


Memories Have Fallen

by sakamoon (Sakamoon)



Series: Into Winter's Clutches [1]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Abuse, Atlantis/the Underground, Centaurs, Contract, Extremely, Gen, Homicide, I hope they don't scare too many people away, I think the major bases are covered, Insanity, Jack Has Issues, Manny you fucked up, Oaths, Or depressed!Jack, Suicide, The Gore has just gotten a bit more serious, Tooth palace, Woo hoo Baby Tooth has joined Jack's party, all the trigger warnings that go with that, big time, but not fearling Jack, evil!jack, just blood really, major binding spells, meet the Overlands, more tags will be added as they show up, nothing that serious though, the main character is pretty much a sociopathic homicidal psycho, tiny bit of gore there, wow those tags though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 19:05:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakamoon/pseuds/sakamoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack Frost considers himself a fairly easy-going Spirit. He doesn't particularly care that no humans can see him, or that most of the Spirit community hates him. As long as he has his fun and games, he will be fine. </p><p>And if his games happen to result in multiple deaths and insanity...Well, it isn't as if anyone can see him to judge anyway.</p><p>Fortunately (or not) just as Jack is starting to get bored, the Guardians stumble onto his radar. With four shiny, new pieces on his board to play with, Jack happily starts a new game.</p><p>The Guardians are about to learn exactly what happens to those who have fallen into winter's clutches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Moon's Mistake and the Boy's First Night

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so this story is a prime example of how I can take a prompt and twist it ten thousand steps too far. This story is, in fact, a fill for this prompt on the kink meme:
> 
> http://rotg-kink.dreamwidth.org/2389.html?thread=4181845#cmt4181845
> 
> I'm fairly heavily editing what I've got and posting it on here.
> 
> That said (in the interest of not ruining this by ranting too much before the story's even begun) please enjoy the Prologue of Into Winter's Clutches' first installment!

Upon awakening, he didn’t have a name, an identity. He didn’t have any memories, and yet, he felt as though he could almost recall a small, precious body curled up against his. Something—someone—was supposed to be with him, if only he could remember who… The thought was suddenly dispersed by the chilling touch of Cold and the soft brushes of Darkness. Cold and Dark filled his head with whispered pleas of giving into their embrace. He found he wanted to listen. It was so comforting, the thought of having a companion, and they were, after all, the only companions he knew of.

Yet, something strange, alien, but somehow paradoxically familiar coursed through him. An emotion. Fear. He was afraid. Afraid of forgetting. He wanted to remember—he wanted...

A small body, brown hair, brown eyes. They weren’t his, but at the same time, _they were_.  

Scared eyes had stared at him, pleading, and he was afraid for the small, quickly fading form he couldn’t quite remember. This small person was destined to be tucked into his side and never let go. An impossible destiny, he thought, for the figure could not be with him here in the Cold and the Dark. He snarled at the chilled blackness surrounding him. How dare these tempters try to coax him deeper into their embrace! He tried to thrash, but he couldn’t move. He struggled, but no matter what he did, they held fast. He had to get out! He had to find—

A gentle light broke through the darkness, dragging him up and out of the water.

He gazed upon the moon as he gasped his first breaths of air.

 _Jack Frost_ , the moon called, _From now on, dear child, you are Jack Frost_.

And suddenly, Jack wasn’t afraid anymore. He didn’t know why he’d been afraid in the first place. Why had he fought against Cold and Dark? They were merely protecting him. They had birthed him after all. He felt as though he’d forgotten something important, but the thought was brushed away as he felt a surge of power run through him. Looking down, he saw a branch, gnarled and hooked at the end. Smiling, he picked it up, only to flinch as the wood quickly became coated in frost. Where wood met ice, fern-like designs started forming as well. Delighted Jack, quickly began testing his newfound abilities. 

Something rustled in the bushes nearby. Freezing, Jack slowly turned to see who was encroaching on his enjoyment only to see the wide, frightened eyes of a rabbit staring back at him. He exhaled in wonder. Something else existed! Something else breathed as he did, moved and thought as he did! Happy, Jack slowly approached the creature, but it startled and hopped away, Jack gaping dumbly for a minute before taking after it.

“Wait!” He shouted, to no avail. The rabbit was getting farther and farther away, soon to be lost in the underbrush of the forest. Desperate, Jack reached a hand out, as if to grab it. The effort was futile, but the shard of ice that shot out from his palm proved to be much more effective. As it reached the rabbit, a piercing scream echoed through the woods. Jack stood for moment stunned by the noise. A creature that small could make a sound that loud? It sounded unnatural—guttural and terrified—and a thrill of excitement ran through Jack, making him shiver. Slowly, he crept up to where the rabbit was.

It was pinned to the floor by the shard he’d accidentally released, the shot running right through the bunny’s extended hind leg and digging into the ground, preventing the rabbit from escaping. It tried though. It scrabbled and whimpered, but interesting as these sounds were, Jack wanted more. He wanted to hear the scream from earlier.

He crouched down next to the furry creature, smiling, and cocked his head, considering. How could he make that sound again? The rabbit had gone still and silent, staring at him, waiting for him to make his move. It looked so small and soft; Jack didn’t resist the urge to reach out a hand and begin brushing his fingers through its fur. In response, it lashed out at him, biting his finger and drawing blood. Yelping, Jack drew his hand back before pressing on the ice in its leg in retaliation, initiating that wonderful screaming all over again.

Grinning at the discovery, Jack held out his hand, palm up, and concentrated. Soon enough, a large needle of ice appeared in his grip. Jack held the rabbit down with his staff and slowly pressed the pin into the rabbit’s flank. The skin resisted at first, but when it finally gave away with a burst of blood, the needle easily dug into the muscle and sinew underneath. For a few precious seconds, the rabbit screamed in a cascade of vibrant noise. It didn’t stop as Jack drew out the needle and drove it in again, or as he skewered it a third time.

The sound had transformed into a faint gurgle by his fourth puncture and was silent by the fifth.

 Frowning, Jack released the needle, still imbedded in the animal, and coaxed, “Hey, don’t stop yet. Hey, come on. Wake up, I wasn’t finished!” 

The rabbit didn’t respond. It merely lay there, blood lazily leaking from the holes in its side and creating stripes of red down its fur. Jack knew, then, that this was death. The creature was dead, never able to again eat or see or breathe. Jack wonderingly ran a hand through its bloody fur and pondered. Did this rabbit have a family? Were they dependent on this rabbit for food and protection? Without it would all the kits die? Without those rabbits would the foxes and wolves who ate them die of starvation as well? The deer would overpopulate then, free from predators. They’d eat up all the grass until, eventually, they all died out too. Soon everything would be dead because Jack killed one rabbit.

Somehow, Jack was delighted by that thought. He knew the likelihood of that happening was next to nothing, but it excited him to know that it might. Such power in the death of one creature! And Jack had the power to control whether it died or not! Surely that was stronger and more potent than all the other powers he seemed to wield! Exhilarated, Jack observed the creature laying at his feet. Its fur was now more red than dark grey. He noted how it’s stillness contrasted with his wildly beating heart. He looked into its glassy eyes, which didn’t look back. He looked at his hand, also red with the rabbit’s life-force. Death was powerful, Jack decided, but he liked the living better. When things were alive, they could feel, could see, could scream, and that was where the fun was.

Standing, Jack covered his face with his bloodstained hand, slowly, caressing his eyelids and running his fingers down his nose. He traced the edges of his lips with four digits and then stuck two in his mouth, biting down nearly hard enough to draw blood. The finger the rabbit had bitten stung in protest as Jack ran his tongue across it. He could feel the warmth of smeared blood on his face as it quickly cooled. He tasted the lifeblood of the rabbit, mixed in with his own as he lapped it from his fingers. Jack was alive, now more than ever, but the exhilaration was quickly wearing off.

Bloodstained face glinting in the moonlight, he looked through the trees to the bright firelight of a nearby settlement.

Who else could he make scream tonight?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Short Prologue is short.~~
> 
>  
> 
>  Meanwhile up in the sky, poor Manny is just thinking "I FUCKED UP I FUCKED UP I FUCKED UP"
> 
> So what did you guys think? I find this story quite fun and have all sorts of plans for it, but I'd like to know your thoughts.
> 
> Next Chapter: We canonically time jump 300 years, and the Guardians are stuck between a rock and a hard place...
> 
> ~Saka out


	2. Asking a favor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Guardians are desperate. The world is at stake, but even with the stakes as high as they are, is it worth it to ask _him_ for help?

Nobody messed with Jack Frost.

That was the one unspoken rule that every spirit followed without question. Sure, he was the youngest spirit in existence. Yes, he had no believers, and normally, that would make for a weak Spirit, but not Jack. He simply...didn’t seem to follow the same guidelines as everyone else. Spirits weren’t supposed to meddle in human affairs. Jack took to living in human houses. Spirits weren’t supposed to harm mortals. Jack took that mandate, mocked it, shredded it up and fed it to the dogs. In his early years, Spirits had tried to inquire about his motive. Power and fame didn’t seem to interest the winter Spirit, and no currency was worth anything to him.

A naive Valentine had wondered if perhaps the boy was merely lonely. She had attempted to get closer to him. Show him true friendship, and perhaps love. The resulting event led to the death of over one hundred humans, and was named the St. Valentine’s Murder. Valentine shuttered herself into her home in a self-imposed exile. Whenever anyone got up the courage to ask what happened, Jack would simply laugh and mention that love was a volatile emotion. 

Realizing that Jack couldn’t be reasoned with, Spirits began actively trying to stop him. The Guardians had even banded together a few times to put an end his chaos. These fights always seemed to end in stale-mate. The Guardians never managed to get Jack under control, but neither did he kill them. Hopefuls said it was because Jack couldn’t defeat them, not really. The best he could do was defend against them and escape. Hopefuls believed that the Guardians were strong enough to protect them from the likes of Jack Frost. Other more solemn Spirits whispered that it was a warning. Jack Frost was so confident in his abilities that he didn’t bother with the effort of putting the Guardians out of their misery. Regardless of which opinion the Spirits had, everyone learned their lesson very quickly.

Nobody messed with Jack Frost.

From the moment he was born, Jack declared Burgess to be his home and base of operations. Now the town was infamous for its harsh, almost never-ending winters. More people from Burgess were committed to insane asylums in one month than in the rest of the state in a year. Burgess was inhospitable, bitter, cruel, and unlucky, but that wasn’t what it was famous for. Advertisements for beautiful snowscapes, luxury houses, and mysterious, never-melting ponds found their way into people’s homes. Reports of miraculous events could be found to the local news. The city was enchanted, people would murmur, it was magical.

The rumors drew people in and kept them there through the storms.The city was a phenomenon, dangerous, a gamble, and perhaps humans secretly loved the thrill in living in such a place. Perhaps that was why they stayed.

The Guardians knew the real reason, of course. It was Jack Frost. He lured people into his home with promises of luck, fortune, and magic, and once they were trapped within his icy clutches, he never let them go. Until Death came, that was. Death and Jack seemed to have an interesting relationship. No one could say if they were worst enemies or best friends. It would help, perhaps, if any other Spirit personally knew  the Grim Reaper, but they tended to stay as far away from death as possible, and therefore never got many chances to talk to the antisocial reaper. Jack was, as always, the exception. It was only natural that Jack would be friends with a being like Death, some whispered, when he caused so much of it.

Speaking of odd acquaintances, some Spirits whispered that Jack was friends with the King of Nightmares as well, but the Guardians were banking on that being a false rumor. It had to be. Jack Frost was, much as Bunny hated to admit it, their last hope. 

_Of course this would work_ , Bunny thought miserably. _Of course walking into a psychopath’s territory and telling him to help them would work out great. It wouldn’t get them killed. Not at all._

But even as he thought that, Bunny knew they had no other options. Pitch had stolen all of Sandy’s dreamsand; Sandy himself only barely managed to avoid being corrupted by Pitch’s arrow. As it was, the dream-maker could barely keep a physical form, much less spread dreams to children. Tooth had only been getting weaker the longer the mini-fairies had been in captivity; at this point, she could barely fly. North was leaning on his swords for support. Bunny...well, Bunny could fit in the palm of somebody’s hand, no longer had opposable thumbs, and lost all his gear.  

They needed help, and they needed it now. At this point, few Spirits could stand up to Pitch’s might, and the Guardians had already asked every Spirit with even a remote possibility of matching the Nightmare King’s power. Every one had either buckled under the fear of the King’s power, as the Giants residing in the peaks of the Himalayas did, or remained unsympathetic to the Guardians plight, as the guards of Atlantis did.

The only being left that could help was Jack Frost.

So it was with this knowledge in mind that the Guardians, weak and desperate, stood at the city limits of Burgess.

Bunny was about to tell the others to get a move on—the faster they did this, the faster they could get this over with—when a large, elaborate door of ice sprouted out from the ground so quickly and closely that Bunny had to squeal (in the most manly way possible) and stumble back to avoid having his nose shaven off.

The door was intricate, the ice sculpted to reflect wrought-iron designs, and lace-like frost swirled throughout the new entryway. The frame contained a series of kangaroos hopping in a sequence so detailed that they seemed almost real and mobile. Bunny knew that particular detail was simply there to mock him.

The doors slammed open and behind them stood Jack Frost himself, leaning on his staff and smiling his typical I’m-probably-not-going-to-kill-you-but-you-don’t-really-want-to-test-that smirk, “You guys have been standing at my doorstep for a while. What are you waiting for, an invite?”

He proceeded to hop on his staff and gestured with a flourish for the Big Four to enter. Bunny resented the thought of listening to Jack, but having no other choice, he stepped through the open doors, the others following behind.

“Woah, hold up,” Jack called from behind, startling everybody, “Bunny, is that you?” the boy laughed as Bunny turned and glared up at him, “I like your new style. You’re so... small and... _adorable_ ,”

“I dare ya ta say that to my face, mate,” Bunny shot back, shaking a fist, before even thinking about it. He regretted it immediately as Jack raised a brow, hopped of his staff, landed crouched on the ground, and slowly stood back up to stalk over to Bunny. 

_Humans shouldn’t be able to walk like that!_ Bunny’s panicking mind thought as Jack slowly crept closer, but his stride couldn’t be described as anything but stalking. Everything from the way Jack’s hips rolled with each step to the way his shoulders shifted almost lazily to his slightly cocked head and growing smile reminded Bunny of the stride of a cougar about to pounce on its prey. Now, Pooka were intelligent and self-aware creatures, but they were also animals. They had strong instincts, and Bunny, being a warrior, had honed his instincts to almost supernatural sharpness.  They were strong enough to warn him of danger miles away, and he came to depend on them as much as any weapon. However, that was a long time ago. Bunny had trained and fought and now his instincts rarely fired off for anything at all because so very few enemies were dangerous to him these days.

Now, though, now his instincts woke up from their hibernation and screamed and begged Bunny to flee. He needed to hide from this predator. Fight or flight kicked in and, as a sudden rush of adrenalin enhanced his senses and elevated his heart-rate, Bunny knew he’d never be able to win as he was. He could only flee or die, but he was a warrior above all else, and he never ran in the face of danger. So, Bunny held his ground against this force of nature coming at him. Out of the corner of his eye, bunny noticed North and Tooth backing away ever so slightly as the Spirit stalked ever closer, their own instincts screaming as well. Sandy, bless the little light, attempted to help, but without the ability to form weapons or even keep a solid form, he couldn’t do anything as Jack came closer.

Though it felt like a small eternity, it was only a couple seconds—a few steps of that unnatural, predatory gait—until Jack was crouched down before Bunny. He picked the rabbit up by the scruff of his neck, and Bunny tried to escape, to no avail. Jack merely grinned, all bared teeth and thinned lips, at his effort.

“You’re,” He started, pausing for emphasis, “Adorable. And tiny,” He began ticking off with his other hand as he continued to list off attributes, “And fluffy, and cuddly, and cute,”

Before Bunny could do something even more stupid than usual, like stretch his neck out and bite off the bugger’s nose, Tooth spoke up tentatively, “Jack. We came to talk to you about something urgent,”

All pretenses of a smile dropped off the boy’s face as he looked at Tooth and North over his shoulder, “It’s always business with you guys. Don’t you ever visit someone just to say hi?” 

Bunny wanted to point out that no sane person would visit someone like Jack, but he knew the difference between bravery and stupidity. Insulting a spirit who was just as likely to help you as kill you while you were caught in his grasp and depowered was about as stupid as stupid got. Instead, he channelled his anger into renewing his efforts to break free.

Jack, pretending to not notice the writhing rabbit, stood up and spun on his heel to face his other guests, “You guys need to let loose once in a while. You know what they say about all work and no play,” He cradled Bunny to his chest with one arm and ran his other hand through his fur in a mockery of petting, effectively trapping Bunny in a cold cage of arms. Bunny was beginning to get a headache between his warring emotions. One-half of him commanded that he should stay still and silent and perhaps the predator would forget about him just long enough for him to escape. The other half raged at this overconfident prick who was just asking for a whack to the head and a few choice words.

North stepped up and began to explain the situation, “Jack, this is important yes? We need--”

“If this is another one of your holier-than-thou-come-to-the-light-side-we-have-cookies speeches, save it,” Jack interrupted, momentarily stopping his petting to wave at the other two dismissively. His hand was back to stroking Bunny’s fur before he got the chance to hop away, “Those stopped being interesting two hundred years ago, and I hate being bored,”

“No, Jack. This is--” Tooth tarted but a shrill scream and a gunshot rang out in the distance. A few seconds of silence later, one more shot rang out, the sound ricocheting off the sides of the buildings and bouncing its way into Bunny’s ever-growing headache.

“Damn, I’m too late,” Jack said, scowling in the direction of the sound. He kicked up his staff from it’s spot on the ground, quickly hooked it over his shoulder, and started heading toward the sound’s origin, “C’mon guys, walk and talk. If we hurry, we might make it in time,”

Jack didn’t wait to see if they followed, merely shooting off toward the houses, leaping over cars and running along walls, occasionally throwing in a dizzying aerial feat that left Bunny’s stomach flip-flopping uncomfortably. He hated flying. He hated flying even more in the arms of someone with no morals and dubious sanity.

Bunny didn’t have to see them to know that the others were following as best they could. After all, what choice did they have? Jack was essentially holding Bunny hostage and they still needed to ask him for help.

Which was increasingly seeming like a bad idea. Bunny couldn’t help but flinch as Jack slowed and the acrid stench of gun-smoke and blood filled his nose. Jack and Bunny stood in front of a little idyllic house. It was two floors, with a sharply angled roof and vines growing all along its stone walls. A white picket fence surrounded the front yard, and a tree upon which a tire swing was attached stood to the left of the brick path that led to the front door.

Come spring, this house would be covered in leafy vines and shaded by a majestic maple. Vivid green grass would cover every inch of the ground and the whole scene would seem as if it was taken straight from a storybook. As it was, the vines were withered and brown, dead for the winter, and the tree was a bare twisted tangle of branches. The swing swayed and creaked slightly in the faint, chill wind that almost constantly blew whenever Jack Frost was present. 

Combined with the scents Bunny picked up, the house was more horror than fairytale. 

Jack stepped forward, frost spreading over the ground, turning yellow grass blue, until he reached a bloody window and peered in. Bunny took this chance to look in as well. The view opened up to a kitchen, all varnished wood and olive accents. It was classic, but the stainless steel appliances gave it a hint of modern feel. The mesh of old and new gave the space a classy ambience and showed good taste. Bunny didn’t really get to appreciate any of this though. What he noticed was the man sitting slouched in one of the chairs placed by the kitchen’s island. 

Or rather he noticed the bloody hole in the back of the dead man’s head and the gun lying on the ground, having slipped from his limp hand.

Bunny had seen a lot of death in his life. Some deaths were more violent than others, and this was nowhere near the worst thing Bunny had ever seen, but despite that he still felt the initial pang of loss and momentary desire to panic upon seeing the corpse. He quickly pushed the emotions aside with ease of experience as he picked up what Jack was murmuring.

“I can’t believe I missed it. Spent all day working on this guy and he decides to wait until the one moment I’m occupied for my snowflakes to take effect. Of course that would happen. Of course.” Eyebrows furrowed, Bunny tried to make sense of what the winter Spirit was saying. Jack’s magic was a mystery. He could control ice, frost, and all things winter, but that didn’t explain the scene before them. What kind of magic did Jack have that he could cause a man to kill himself? If Bunny could figure that out, the Guardians would be one step closer to stopping the winter Spirit.  

“Hey Bunny, I hope what you have to say really is important because you guys just wasted my entire day’s effort,” Jack piped up, making the Pooka flinch out of his thoughts. 

“I feel just bloody awful ‘bout that, mate. Really,” Bunny replied flatly, glaring at the Spirit holding him.

Jack stared back, and Bunny silently cursed himself when he looked away first. He could practically feel the boy’s smirk as he said absently, “Speaking of which, there were two shots right? I wonder who the second body is,” He deposited Bunny on the windowsill as he went to check the other windows. 

The other three Guardians chose that moment to catch up to them, already tired from the short distance sprint.

“Bunny!” Tooth cried out, “You’re okay,”

“Course I am,” Bunny replied, and hopped up to his fellow teammates, “Well, mostly anyway. ‘Ave I ever told ya how much I ‘ate this plan?”

“I know but we don’t have many options here,” Tooth replied.

“Well, I’m not gonna be the one to try and get ‘im on our side,” Bunny grunted, “I’ve already talked to ‘im enough for one century,”

With a nod, Tooth volunteered to do the deed, fluttering over to Jack. She tried to keep a healthy distance, but every time she tried to talk, the boy hopped to new window, searching for his second body. 

Huffing in agitation, Tooth zipped back before shouting, “Jack. We need your help,”

That stopped him. He froze midair and slowly turned to look back at Tooth, “My help?”

“Yes,” Tooth confirmed, “You see Pitch is plotting something terrible and we,” She hesitated, shoulders slumping before continuing, “we can’t stop him on our own.” 

“Pitch? As in Pitch Black, the Boogeyman?” Jack repeated, and Bunny realized the true depth of the mistake that was asking for Jack’s help. He could see true anger—not the boy’s usual malicious yet playful expression—in the boy’s eyes, “You think you can come here and just ask me to help you take down one of the only interesting people out there? You think I’ll just selflessly agree to help you? Why? Who do you guys think you are?” A storm was starting to brew, the very winds themselves lashing like whips against Bunny’s fur, “And why for Moon’s sake did you think asking me was a good idea?”

“Hah, we never thought this was a good idea!” Bunny shouted angrily at this child’s out-of-place tantrum.

“You are last hope. If you don’t help, world will be doomed,” North finished in what probably would have been an encouraging tone, had he not had to shout over the wind. The howling gale suddenly stopped as Jack glared at the four Guardians

“‘Last hope?’ Oh this is great! You’re trying to guilt trip me,” He said with a scoff. he waved in the Guardian’s general direction, “It’s not fair that you would try and call in a favor without anything in return. Actually, this is getting annoying,” Immediately, the gale blew up again, sudden fury igniting a storm in Jack’s eyes, “You should leave, or I swear I’ll finish what Pitch started and tear you to shreds myself! ”

Bunny, as he defended his face from harm, could feel himself being blown back by the force of the squall berating him. He was about to hightail it out of there when he heard Tooth shriek through the blizzard, “You don’t understand Jack! Pitch took everything, all of my girls! All of the teeth! I’d do anything to get them back! Please! Anything!”

Everything stopped suddenly. The hurricane-level winds were gone. The hail let up and the snow settled silently on the ground. In mere moments, the death-trap turned into a silent Winter Wonderland as Jack stared confusedly at a kneeling, exhausted Tooth. Sandy took this chance to piece himself back together, his form having been blown apart by the force of the gale, and North was attempting to pull one of his swords out of a wall it had lodged itself into.

Slowly, Jack walked, leaving no tracks in his snow, up to Tooth and crouched down so that he was level with her slumped form, “Why would Pitch take the teeth?” He asked curiously, “They’re just bones. Evidence. Souvenirs. Pitch doesn’t go for stuff like that,”

“It not the teeth he wants,” Tooth mumbled.

“Woah, sheila. Ya sure ya wanna be tellin’ ‘im something as important as this?” Bunny interjected. In truth, very few spirits knew why Tooth collected teeth from around the world. The Guardians kept the knowledge under wraps on purpose to make sure no one would go after them and use them to their advantage. In the hands of Pitch Black, the children of the world had forgotten all their moments of hope, wonder, and dreams and remembered all their fears with extreme clarity. Bunny didn’t even want to think about how Jack Frost would manipulate the memories and the effects he could have. 

Jack shot Bunny and glare, and, much to the rabbit’s chagrin, he couldn’t stop his ears from folding down and his muscles from causing him to practically shrink into himself, “Let the lady talk,” Jack growled, “I’m curious. What’s so important about a pile of bones,” 

“The teeth I collect contain the most important memories of childhood,” Tooth continued, her voice low and melancholic, “With them, I can help people remember the things they need the most to push them through hard times. I had everybody’s. Even mine, even yours,” 

Tooth’s head was bowed, North was still attempting to pull his wedged sword out from the wall, and Sandy was still recuperating from pulling himself back together, so Bunny was the only one who saw the momentary flash of confusion as Jack mouthed a single word that Bunny read as ‘mine.’

A second later, though, the expression was gone, replaced by Jack’s normal look of mischievousness as he said, “Wow, so you manipulate memories, huh? I guess that’s more interesting than being a creepy old hag with an tooth obsession,” He grinned as Tooth’s head shot up to glare at him. Her glare was soon swamped by conflicted wonder as she saw his teeth. Bunny watched as she had to physically grab her arms to force herself to stay away from those pearly whites. 

After a few seconds of watching Tooth silently struggle with herself, Jack’s grin turned into a laugh and he mentioned, “Well, glad to see you’re still obsessed with teeth too. You don’t have to hold back, ya know. I don’t bite,” Jack didn’t say it, but everyone heard the silent ‘usually’ tacked onto the edge of the sentence.

Tooth’s hand spasmed, but she otherwise kept herself under control, shaking her head. Jack shrugged and stood up, resting his crook on his shoulder, “On second thought, I suppose I’ll help you guys and stop Pitch after all,” Jack stated as he leisurely paced the length of the yard, “On one condition, of course,”

“What condition?” Tooth asked, rightfully wary. Bunny was getting bad vibes from all of this. 

Jack paused just as he reached the side of the house and half turned to face them, “That would be telling, wouldn’t it?” Jack covered his smirking mouth with one pointed index finger in the universal sign for silence, “What does it matter anyway. You said you’d do _anything_ ,” Jack continued, emphasizing the last word.

Jack and Tooth stared each other down for a minute, but Bunny saw Jack’s short attention wandering, and soon the Spirit leaped to the window nearest him, “Ah, so it was his wife after all. Poor Mrs. White, Involved in a murder-suicide. Those are always tragic cases. Oh! I wonder what would happen if I…”

Jack grinned dreamily at the body Bunny presumed was on the other side of the glass. Shaking his head, and purposely not thinking about what Jack was pondering, Bunny stepped over to Tooth, followed shortly by North and Sandy, “Jack?” she called out uncertainly. He didn’t respond, merely continuing to mumble to himself.

“Jack, job needs to be done quickly,” North stated, “We should get going. Stop Pitch before is too late,” Again, the boy didn’t respond, didn’t even seem to register they were there anymore.

“Our job ‘ere’s done. Lets get out of ‘ere,” Bunny said gravely. He knew a dismissal when he saw one, and Jack’s casual ignoring of them definitely counted. It stated all-too-clearly that Jack wanted to handle this alone, without their help. Bunny was only too happy to oblige and leave. It hurt his pride to step back onto the side-lines, but as it was, the four would simply be a hindrance. He communicated this to the other three and everyone silently agreed and walked away from the veritable hell-hole that was Jack Frost’s home.

As they reached the city limits, the ice-construct door gone as if it’d never been there at all, Bunny heard the whisper on the wind of, “See you guys soon!”

Everyone shivered. Yes, Bunny thought grimly, they got help in destroying Pitch but was this really so much better? Who knew what favor Jack would call in? They could be in a worse situation than they started in. Pitch may have been Fear, dark and scary, but Jack was Winter, cold and cruel. Pitch, at least, had clear-cut reasons for doing the things he did. Jack was unstable and unpredictable. He was deadly and sadistic and even worse, he was intelligent about it. Jack lured people in with promises and deals, and when they got caught on his line...

Well, Bunny supposed, the Guardians would find out soon enough what happened to people who fell into Winter’s clutches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus the story actually begins. Poor Guardians.
> 
> As always, if anything is unclear, please feel free to tell me. I love your input.
> 
> Next time: Pitch and Jack talk, and then Jack pisses Pitch off. Their usual gig, really.
> 
> ~Saka out


	3. The Merits of Friendships in Low Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Pitch were friends, so it should totally be easy to convince the older Spirit to give the Guardians back their power.
> 
> ...Hah.

Jack sent the Big Four one last goodbye on the wind as they left Burgess. He was glad to know they at least had the sense to leave when they were unwanted. They were annoying enough without constantly hanging over his shoulder while he fulfilled his part of the deal.

Jack’s vision refocussed on Mr. White through the window. With the human dead, Jack didn’t exactly have anything to do in Burgess anymore. He supposed he could head over to Pitch at this very moment. He groaned. Trying to talk Pitch out of his schemes never ended well. It was thrilling and possibly fatal, but it wasn’t wise, and Jack would be a monkey’s uncle if he came out of the attempt without any injuries. Well, it couldn’t hurt any worse to get this unpleasant business over with quickly. 

But first...

Jack broke through the window and stepped delicately into the house, mindful not to step in any blood as he picked up the gun that had been abandoned on the ground, “You don’t mind if I borrow this, do you?” He asked the corpse. When he got no response, Jack shrugged and grinned. Silence wasn’t a rejection after all.

He examined the piece of machinery, slowly rotating it in his hands. He’d never personally used a gun before. They were too messy, too loud, and especially too easy. All it took was the twitch of a finger, and boom somebody was dead. It didn’t require any art or finesse. No gamble. Except for those revolvers. Russian Roulette had been entertaining back when it was popular.

He looked down the barrel of the gun. Still, there was something to be said of the thrill of imminent death. No one was able to dodge a bullet. Not from this proximity. What would happen if Jack pulled the trigger now? Would he be able to avoid the bullet? No, definitely not. Would the bullet pass right through him like the billions of people outside in the world? No, it wouldn’t. Or, rather, it probably would, but it’d leave evidence of the deed. Blood, gore, death, and all of it Jack’s.

He smiled as his finger tensed on the trigger.

The gun fired.

The bullet dug into the wall a good foot away from the picture Jack had aimed the gun at.

He blinked and looked at the smoking weapon in his hand, “Huh, I guess these require some skill after all. Movies make it look too easy,”

The sound of police sirens reached Jack’s ears, and he took that as his cue to leave. He tucked the gun into his belt, balanced his staff on his shoulder, and climbed back out of the window, taking to the air immediately. 

Jack and Pitch were what people would call friends, or so Jack assumed. At least, they hung out sometimes and Jack liked the melodramatic way Pitch handled everything. Pitch, though he denied it to Hell and back, even opened up an entrance to his lair near Jack’s Lake for ease of travel in case Jack wanted to pop in for a quick hello. Friendship, right?

Okay, so maybe Jack had tricked Pitch into taking an Oath that required the Nightmare King to allow the winter sprite access to his lair at all times. That might have had something to do with it, too.

Regardless of small technicalities, the point was, Pitch’s lair was close by. Therefore, it was only a matter of minutes before Jack found the hole under rickety old bed-frame and jumped into the darkness without hesitation. The dark didn’t frighten Jack. Darkness was one of the first things he’d ever known. Dark and Cold birthed Jack Frost, and he always found comfort in shadow’s embrace. It was definitely better than the feeling of melting under the sun. Jack didn’t understand why people purposefully lay out underneath the raging ball of gas to “suck up its rays,” as they say. The thought of it made Jack shiver uncomfortably.

As those unpleasant thoughts swam through his mind, Jack absentmindedly traversed the numerous halls of Pitch’s Realm. He tried, once upon a time, to actually pay attention to where he was going and learn the various paths and tunnels. All he got was turned around and a headache. This place defied every physical law humans ever conceived.

As such, nowadays when Jack came to visit, he simple meandered aimlessly until he found himself at his destination, a room very familiar to him. It was expansive, the walls and roof so distant as to be hidden from sight in the dim lighting. In the center of the room stood a large skeleton of a globe, for some reason the lights of belief glowing on it. Jack didn’t particularly understand why Pitch wanted a globe that depicted children who believed in the Guardians, but he never questioned it out loud. It was just another one of Pitch’s strange quirks. A multitude of ancient, empty cages hung by sturdy chains from the ceiling. Except they weren’t empty anymore, Jack noted with surprise.

Hundreds, possibly thousands of little hummingbird-like creatures occupied the cages. Chirping and trilling relentlessly, their voices resounding through the chamber. Well, Jack found Tooth’s little babies and her teeth. Underneath the cages, in piles almost ridiculously high, were numerous golden boxes which presumably held the bones he was tasked with saving. If Tooth wasn’t lying, one of those was his.

Pitch currently stood in front of his globe, his back to Jack. He seemed intent on something and hadn’t seemed to notice Jack’s arrival. Jack grinned, and began creeping up to the older spirit as silently as he could, making sure his staff didn’t strike anything and give him away. He raised his hands, intent on scaring Pitch.

He was almost within arms reach when Pitch commented without so much as turning around, “You can’t sneak up on me in my own realm Frost. I’ve known where you are from the moment you stepped into my home,”

Immediately, Jack stood up straight and dropped his hands, “Aw, darn. I was so looking forward to seeing you scared,” He complained disappointedly, only half joking. 

Pitch laughed, “You can’t scare Fear, Frost,”

“That’s lame. The best things in life come from being scared,” Jack replied sullenly, even as he hopped fearlessly onto Pitch’s back, wrapping his legs around the man’s waist, chin resting on his shoulder. He wrapped his staff-wielding arm around Pitch’s shoulder for balance as his free hand drew the gun and held it to the Spirit of Fear’s temple.

Pitch, much to Jack’s chagrin, barely even reacted, merely scowling and glancing at Jack out of the corners of his eyes, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m holding a gun to your head,” Jack replied innocently.

“I’m aware of that, Frost. I meant, _why_ are you aiming a gun at me?” Pitch spoke slowly, as if he were talking to an exceptionally dull child.

Jack shrugged as best he could in his position, “I dunno. I had it? I wanted to see how you’d react? You’re not reacting like I’d hoped,” Jack admitted, disappointedly.

“I hope you weren’t aiming for some sort of cheap scare, Jack. What have I to fear of guns? They can’t kill me,” Pitch, apparently disinterested, went back to observing his globe.

“Guns can’t kill Spirits?” Jack asked, once again pointing the gun at himself.

Pitch reached over and took hold of the weapon, stopping Jack before he could pull the trigger, “No, gun’s can’t kill _me,”_ Pitch explained, “You shoot yourself and you’ll be quite the dead mess on my floor. I’d rather not have to clean that up,”

Jack lightly shook Pitch’s grip off and reoriented it toward Pitch’s head, “If it can kill me, why not you? What makes you so special?” Jack asked, a smile in his tone.

Pitch sneered, “You can’t kill Fear, Frost, I’ll simply come back,”

Jack finally tucked away his gun, pouting at the globe, “I can’t scare Fear; I can’t kill Fear. What _can_ I do to Fear?”

“You can get off,” Pitch answered without missing a beat.

“Fine,” Jack drew out the word as he slowly climbed down the hulking Spirit. Seriously, Pitch was huge! But he was lean, all spidery legs and lanky build. Every time Jack thought of it, he got the image of Pitch trying to ice-skate. It never failed to make him laugh. Even now he chuckled, earning a suspicious glare from the Spirit beside him. Jack cleared his throat and pretended to take interest in the cages above their heads. One day, he swore he would take Pitch out to his lake and get him on it, if it was the last thing he did, and it probably would be.

But today was not that day. Jack had stuff to do. He circled around to Pitch’s side, and the older spirit paid him no mind. That was one of the reasons Jack stayed with Pitch; no matter what he did, he couldn’t get a rise out of Pitch. Actually, that was a lie. Jack constantly got Pitch extremely angry or annoyed, and more than once, Jack had to flee from this lair as quickly as he could while Fearlings chased after him, but Pitch was never frightened, nor did he ever give Jack that look of inferiority that the others gave him. Well, that was also a lie, but Pitch looked at everyone like they were inferior. What he didn’t give Jack was that sidelong, wary glance that everyone else did. 

It was pleasant to, just for a moment, feel normal like everyone else.

...Or, Jack supposed, that was what people in his position usually thought. Jack loved those fearful glances everybody cast at him. He encouraged it, even. There was a reason nobody ever messed with him. He was Jack Frost, Herald of Winter and bringer of Cold and Dark. He took people and wrapped them around his fingers, bending their wills. So, everybody stayed away from him to avoid being caught up in his strings. Little did they know, simply by doing that, they were already playing his game. When people were frightened of him, they were so easy to manipulate into doing what he wanted, and finally, today, Jack dragged the Guardians into the playing field.

Yes, the Guardians knew of him and his reputation, but they didn’t really fear it. No, instead they merely kept a healthy distance from it. They infuriated him; they interfered with his work, drove him away from his fun, and then they got angry at him for it. They were always all righteous fury and hopes and wonder and dreams. They could accomplish anything with the “power of friendship” or some silly, heroic notion like that. It was maddening, and Jack would have taken them out of the game permanently, if he could have. Unfortunately, the Guardians were tougher than their legends made them out to be. Perhaps what irritated Jack the most about them was that they could back up all their ridiculous notions of friendship and joy. Somehow, when the four Guardians were together they were virtually impossible to beat.

Well, it might have been easier to win if Jack hadn’t set up rules for their battles. Rules that hindered him as much as they helped him.

Yes, if he simply fought the Guardians no holds barred, he’d at least have a chance, but every game had to have rules. Sure, they were rules Jack created at will, and never told anyone about, but they were fair rules, and Jack followed them, even if it meant his loss. After all a game with no structure where nobody followed the rules was just war. Or love. That was what Valentine had said, right? All’s fair in love and war? Well, no wonder the two were such mundane things.

But the world wasn’t so black and white. Even love and war had their rules and their consequences. Boy did Jack love their consequences. People walked into love and war happy and lively and when they came out, they were jaded and traumatized. It was interesting to watch, really, as people went around hating war and glorifying love even though they often had the same effects. The only difference was that war tended to be a little more literal about its tendency to rip people’s hearts out. Victims of both were Jack’s favorite playthings.

All it took was a small shower of his enchanted snow for them to go into a killing spree, or get revenge, or commit suicide. Honestly, Jack rarely knew what people would do under the influence of his magic, and that was what made it so interesting to watch. 

See, Jack’s snowflakes often incited a very stereotypical short-term, violent madness in people, but his power didn’t directly cause the insanity. Jack’s magic couldn’t create madness from nothing. His snowflakes merely intensified emotions that were already there to near-meltdown levels. Usually, this resulted in insanity as the tragedies, sadness, anger, and desperation humans meekly tried to bury whirled through them uncontrollably. If somebody was really content, or if they had mastered control over their emotions, Jack could literally sit there and shower his snowflakes at them their whole lives with little to no effect.

Jack knew that for a fact, he tried once. On a Buddhist monk. The man seriously never so much at flinched at the sheer amount of emotion that must have been roiling through him. Jack never let the man leave his sight for three years, constantly throwing the magic dust at him, before he gave up and flew back to America, a newfound respect for those monks in his mind.

His snowflakes only drew forth the emotions people locked away and then intensified them dramatically. Whether people let those emotions control their actions or not, and what they did under the influence was entirely up to them.

To be fair, though, Jack understood just how hard it was to reel oneself in under the influence of his magic. He once, just once, used his snowflakes on himself. Truthfully, he hadn’t been expecting much of a change. He didn’t really hold anything back, If he felt an impulse, he acted on it. So he was taken aback when an untamable sadness welled up in him and he sat at his lake and wept for days. Before then, he didn’t even know he had anything to be sad about. To this day, Jack still didn’t know exactly what he was sad about, but he could still feel the deep sadness and regret buried in himself. It had always been there; the only thing his magic did was make him aware of it, and that was why Jack knew that, despite everything the other spirits accused him of, he didn’t bring more evil into the world by using his magic, he simply brought existing evil to light.

But even if he had been at fault for the evil, it was still funny to watch people go completely around the bend.

“Are you just going to stand there all day, or are you going to tell me why you’re here?” Pitch said, breaking Jack from his musings. Oops, he didn’t mean to get caught up in his thoughts; he did that far too often.

“Do I have to have a reason? I can’t just drop in for a friendly ‘hello’?” Jack grinned up at the darker spirit. 

“That would imply that we are friends, Frost,” He deadpanned.

“I never said we aren’t,” Jack shot back, strolling up toward the globe and slowly circling it.

“No, I did,” Pitch hissed, “So stop playing your silly games and tell me what you are doing here,”

Jack hopped onto the apex of the globe, facing Pitch, “Not friends? Ouch, that hurts, right here,” he said, tapping his chest, “And Pitch, you should start playing more games. They’re fun. You need a bit of fun. Then again, maybe you’re just a tad too busy, what with your taking over the world gig, and all,” Jack finished, tapping his staff against the globe below him. He’d noticed a while ago that it wasn’t nearly as bright as usual; almost all the lights on it were gone.

Pitch raised a non-existent brow, “Oh? I’m surprised you’ve noticed, as absentminded as you are,”

“Hey I’m not that—”Jack cut himself off a he thought about it. It could be argued that he was absentminded, but a guy couldn’t help if he liked having a thought in his brain. It wasn’t like it bothered most people anyway when he went off on random, silent tangents, and really, he came up with some of his greatest ideas when he got lost in his own mind. Or his stupidest. Of course, that could be coincidence. He tended to get distracted very easily when he was about to do something stupid. Jack wondered, absently, if he was about to do something stupid.

“Frost!” Pitch growled, snapping the sprite back to reality. Yeah, he was about to do something stupid.

Jack grinned, “Okay, you got me. Let’s just say a not-so-little birdie told me. Though this attempt seems to be going a lot better than your last one,”

“Yes, that one ended poorly, no thanks to you,”

“Hey! Don’t blame me,” Jack cried out, mock-insulted, “I was just doing my job, creating the distraction you asked for. Heck, I went above and beyond, I think. I mean the whole world practically shut down that Easter weekend. Your failure had nothing to do with me,”

“If you really wanted to help, you could have stepped into the battle,” Pitch scowled.

“Hey, you never asked for help. So I figured you were doing okay. Until, you know, you lost,” Jack shrugged and Pitch hissed, launching out a whip of Nightmare-sand. Jack rolled, catching himself just before he fell off the globe, “Touchy, touchy,”

“Why. Are. You. Here. Frost,” The spirit gritted through his teeth, and Jack decided it was time to get to business.

“Well, actually, I’m here because of this,” He explained, once again tapping the globe, “You see, the Guardians came to me with an offer I couldn’t refuse, so I was wondering if maybe you could... I dunno, stop trying to take over the world? Just this once?” Jack asked, giving his best impression of an innocent smile. 

The Nightmare King didn’t bother to reply with words, instead just lashing out at Jack with another chain of his corrupted sand. As Jack leapt up to avoid the blow, he wondered if, perhaps, he shouldn’t have riled the older spirit up before asking him this. A Nightmare charged at him from the side, and Jack was forced to dive to avoid it. Before he could get his bearings, something wrapped around his middle and flung him across the room, smacking him hard into the wall.

A burst of pain flashed behind Jack’s eyes as he slid to the floor. He could hear the hissing of the King of Fear as he all but slithered up to Jack, “You’re with those Guardians?” He asked infuriated, “I thought you were above that, Jack Frost. I thought you could be...but no, I was wrong,” Jack couldn’t get up; the chain of shadows that was wrapped around his waist had melded with the floor. His head was still spinning as Pitch brought his face closer, Jack could feel the warmth of his breath on his face, “Tell me, Frost, how did they buy you out? Are they going to let you into their precious country club? Do you get to protect the world’s children?” Pitch scoffed as if the idea of Jack protecting people was insane, which, it was.

Jack tried to answer, but it was hard to do much of anything when your ears were ringing and your head was spinning. Did Pitch have to fling him so hard? Did Jack have an actual wound or did it just feel as if his head was cracked open? As Jack recovered, it occurred to him once again how huge Pitch was. The spirit was bent at practically a ninety degree angle and still he had to look down to see Jack. He wasn’t always that tall was he? Oh wait, Jack was sitting on the floor. Of course he was. He wasn’t thinking clearly. Did he have a concussion? Probably. Well, he’d have to return that favor, wouldn’t he?

“Are you going to answer, Frost?” Pitch continued when Jack didn’t respond, inching ever closer and revealing his teeth in a snarl. Was he planning to eat Jack or something?

Jack smiled at Pitch before proceeding to bash his forehead into the other’s beak-like nose. The King of Fear jumped back with a snarl, and Jack took the chance to freeze his chains into shattering, quickly flying into the air and letting loose a wave of hoarfrost. Pitch cloaked himself in a shield of dark sand, and when the barrier dissipated, he was wielding his signature scythe.

Pulling out the weapons then? From his spot in the air, Jack replicated Pitch’s pose, holding his staff with two hands spread apart, the crook pointed toward the floor. Ice quickly began creeping along the staff, wrapping around it, encasing it, shaping it, sharpening it, and soon Jack’s staff became an icy scythe of its own.

“Let’s get this party started,”

“Jack Frost!” 

Pitch sent out a wave of shadows, which Jack promptly sliced through, only to be forced to defend himself as Pitch appeared before him and swung down. The force of the attack forced Jack to the ground, Pitch quickly following after. The ice spirit quickly rolled out of the way just as Pitch had been about to impale him, striking into the ground instead, and how strong was that weapon? The ground was made of stone!

Not wasting the opportunity, Jack charged, but instead of struggling to pull his weapon out, like Jack had anticipated, Pitch merely turned to face him, a new scythe appearing in his hands.

Oh, come on! That just wasn’t fair!

Jack pivoted last second, spinning in a full circle as he dodged Pitch’s blow and brought his weapon back around to counter. Pitch hopped back, Jack’s scythe barely nicking his cheek. Black liquid seeped out from the wound. Jack leapt backwards as well, putting some space between them as Pitch smeared the blood away.

“What’s the matter? Getting slow in your old age?” Jack taunted. It wasn’t true, and both of them knew it. Pitch was stronger and faster than he’d ever been since the fabled Dark Ages. He’d all but gotten the Guardians beat, a coveted deed for any tyrannical Spirit. Truthfully, Jack wasn’t sure if he could win this—no, he was positive he couldn’t—but he wasn’t about to let that get him down. This was the ultimate gamble, and the excitement of it boiled through his frozen veins.

“Hardly, Frost. Rather, you seem to have lost your touch,”

Jack was trying to figure out what that meant when pain exploded in his back. He was knocked flat onto the floor and immediately rolled away, saving himself from being stomped to death by the Nightmare that had snuck up behind him. Jack was back on his feet and launching icicles at the creature before it got to take another step.

Immediately, two more Nightmares shifted out of the shadows in front of Jack and two from behind. They whinnied, and stomped their hooves as they marched closer, entrapping Jack. He waited, legs apart, weapon ready. For a second, nobody moved.

Then one horse screamed and charged at him, the others soon following. Jack leaped into the air, performing a front-flip that split one enemy in half right down the middle. Upon alighting on the ground he spun to the right, lopping another’s head off. He had to hop back to avoid getting bit by the third before he swung his scythe diagonally, creating a deep gash in the thing’s chest. Using his momentum, Jack let the motions sweep him into a circle and his weapon tore through the ribs of the last. 

Breathing hard, Jack turned to stare at Pitch just as the four horses disintegrated back into the shadows they came from.

“Bravo, Frost,” Pitch said amusedly, then he charged, swinging his weapon at Jack without respite. Jack leapt and jumped, ducked and dodged, trying to find an opening to attack. There was none.

Finally, Pitch took a swipe at his head, and Jack found his chance. He parried the blow, deflecting it to the side as he reversed his own blade and swung it up to Pitch’s neck. The older spirit managed to dodge, once again gaining a shallow wound. Well, so far the score was two-zero; Jack was on a roll.

And of course, just as he thought that, things got harder. From the corner of his eye, he caught a Nightmare charging at him just in time to fly up and avoid it; it kept running, melting into the shadows on the other side of the room. Another came at him, from in front this time, then one from above. In one clean move, Jack swung his staff in a vertical strike above his head, catching the Nightmare charging down at him and bringing it down on its partner in front of Jack, both exploding on impact. He then shove the butt end of his scythe backwards, catching the Nightmare attempting to sneak up on him from behind. With no hesitation, Jack swung around and lopped its head off.

Something tore through Jack’s left arm, leaving an angry laceration and issuing a cry from his lips as he instinctively hopped back and into the air. He turned to face his assailant and saw Pitch licking the newly-drawn blood off his blade.

“Am I still slow, Frost?”

“Hah, you can’t say anything about that until you call off your little goonies and fight me one-on-one,”

Pitch shrugged and snapped his fingers. Immediately all the little ponies in the room fled to their respective shadows, “Acceptable?”

In answer, Jack rained down icicles at his adversary and immediately charged after them, thankful that, though it echoed pain every time he moved it, his left arm was still capable of functioning. Pitch destroyed the barrage of ice with one fell swoop of his weapon, but before he could pull it up to defend, Jack was taking swings at him. Pitch’s only option was to evade. Jack kept close, knowing Pitch’s scythe was longer than his and would have a harder time in this close of combat. He swung to the left; Pitch ducked under. He reversed the blade and swung back around, but Pitch leapt over it. Jack swung down, but Pitch dodged to the side, the side of Jack’s staff catching his robe, before Jack pulled back around and took another swing.

Pitch caught the blade of the scythe with it own and diverted its path before taking a swipe at Jack, forcing him to bend backwards to avoid the blow. Jack let the momentum carry him into a backwards hand-spring. Pitch followed after, jabbing the butt-end of his scythe into Jack’s gut just as he righted himself.

Grunting, Jack clutched his stomach with one hand as he stumbled backwards. Jack tripped over a stray memory box, slipping and falling onto his back. An accident that ended up saving his life. Pitch’s attack, one meant to cleave him in two, only gave him a shallow cut across his chest. Hissing, Jack scrambled back onto his feet, skipped back once, and jumped into the air, landing on the top of one of the cages in the room.

Pitch, looking smug at this small victory, gripped his massive scythe with one hand and drew it behind him, before launching it at Jack as if it were a frisbee.

Flailing, Jack launched himself off the cage to dodge it, and the moment it passed him, it vanished into shadow, Pitch already forming a new one in his hands. That seriously wasn’t fair. Before it was complete, Jack charged and swung down at the Boogeyman.

Pitch looked alarmed for all of a second before he sneered and vanished into the shadow beneath him.

“Oh, come on!” Jack groaned even as he pivoted on his heel and brought up his weapon to block Pitch’s blow. The two scythes locked together and the two drew closer as each tried to break the other’s defense, “That is clearly cheating,” 

“No, it’s being smart and using my surroundings. You should try it sometimes, Frost, the ‘being smart’ bit, that is”

Jack rolled his eyes and deadpanned, “Right,” Without a hint, he dropped down and swiped his leg in a circle, tripping Pitch. Jack kept up his momentum as he straightened back up and braced his scythe, bringing it around over and over again at the defenseless spirit. Caught in the attack, Pitch took three hits before Jack’s fourth rotation sent him flying back, landing hard on the ground.

Jack allowed himself a moment to reorient and stop the world from spinning as Pitch lay on the ground. None of Pitch’s four new wounds seemed immediately fatal, but they were deep enough to hurt. Good. It was time he landed a decent hit on Pitch, Jack thought as he panted. He was tired and getting dizzy from the blood-loss. He was sure his new hoodie was more red than blue at this point. A small sound like the crackling of paper whispered to Jack’s ear, and he looked down at his scythe. The ice was infested with thousands of spiderweb-thin cracks. His weapon wasn’t in good shape either. Jack took comfort in the fact that, as Pitch struggled back onto his feet, he wasn’t looking much better. Pitch’s chest heaved with every breath he took, and he kept his feet wide apart for extra support. His scythe seemed to have trouble keeping a physical form.

As the two faced each other off, they both came to the silent consensus. This next move would be their last. One person would come out of it the victor and the other... well one life had been the price of this gamble from the very beginning.

The two both gripped their weapons, praying they would hold together long enough, and readied their stances. Jack shifted his left foot forward, slowly leaning into it as he prepared to launch himself. Pitch did the same, and at an unspoken signal, they both launched themselves forward, taking their shot just as they passed each other.

Jack touched back down on the ground just in front of the far wall as he waited for the result. He sincerely hoped to hear a body fall down behind him. Instead he heard the sound of ice shattering as his weapon once again became merely a staff. Immediately afterward blood sprayed from a wound spanning the entirety of Jack’s torso. Ow.

He collapsed to his knees, his death grip on his staff the only thing keeping him from collapsing completely onto the ground. So, he really lost after all. It was inevitable, but it still left a sour taste in his mouth, or maybe that was the blood. He wasn’t sure at this point. His thoughts were all a little bit fuzzy.

Eventually, Jack managed to find the strength to turn around and sit with his back against the wall, his staff across his lap and his hands tucked into his hoodie’s pocket. Across the room, Pitch was on one knee, obviously trying to get back up. When he finally did, he turned and limped toward Jack. A new gash was open in his stomach, which meant that a least Jack had gotten a good hit on the elder spirit. Maybe Pitch had won the battle, but he wouldn’t be able to keep his hold on the power he’d worked so hard to get while he waited for that to heal, which meant that Jack had ultimately won the war. 

Eventually, Pitch came back to stand right in front of Jack not unlike how this battle first started. This time though, his expression was more resigned than angry. He knew too that all of his work had been for naught.

“Good battle, huh?” Jack’s tired voice whispered out.

“Yes, you were a good adversary, Frost. It is a shame I have to kill you,” Pitch raised his scythe above his head in preparation for one final blow, “Good bye; it was...interesting knowing you, Jack Frost,”

“Pitch?” Jack asked, just as the Nightmare King was about to bring the weapon down.

He hesitated and asked, “Yes?”

“Stop being so dramatic,”

A gunshot rang out.

Jack lowered the firearm he was holding while he watched Pitch’s head jerk backwards from the impact of the bullet to his forehead. His body quickly followed, collapsing onto the floor with a dull thud. For a second everything was still, until Pitch started hissing, writhing, and bubbling, the body quickly losing form and dissolving into the shadows. 

When he was gone and everything was quiet again Jack spoke up, “Well...That was interesting,”

Jack leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He was bone tired. He hurt all over. He wanted nothing more than to just take a quick nap to quell his throbbing head and the ringing in his ears. Of course, that meant that everything in the room had to suddenly get incredibly loud. Every Baby Tooth simultaneously broke out into a happy chirping, hopping about their prisons and causing the cages to creak as they rocked back and forth. Jack was able to put up with it for maybe two seconds before he drew up the gun and fired again. The bullet missed the cages by a mile but it got his point across. The room went silent.

“Shut up, before I make you,” He growled, not even caring if they could hear him, “I’m tired. I’m hurt, and I’m hungry, which means I’m in a bad mood. So the forcing of your silence will be even worse than usual. Got that?”

Nobody answered, and Jack smiled. Normally he’d take this up a notch, scare them a bit more, play with their minds, but he could already feel the pull of unconsciousness tugging at his core. So, instead, he muttered out, “Good,” and sank into blissful slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Did anyone catch the reference to the Blizzard of 68 in this chapter?~~
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
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> 
> Okay. I'm going to apologize here for the sheer amount of internal rambling Jack does because it's probably not going to end any time soon.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. There was a bit of exposition on how Jack's powers work, and a little bit of how the world works too. There's a bit of a battle that seemed much longer when I was actually writing it. And there's some fluffy friendship scenes between Pitch and Jack. (Hush, that as close to fluff as this story will get. Take it or leave it.) 
> 
> Next chapter: The Guardians know how Jack Frost is, but somehow they still manage to be surprised that he would pull such a horrible prank on them.
> 
> ~Saka Out


	4. When Making a Deal, Make Sure to Have All The Chips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's not a huge fan of birds, especially big ones that can hold swords.
> 
> But this one? This smart little one with a single golden feather? Jack could make an exception for her.
> 
> Besides, the chance to tease the Guardians is too fun to pass up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I totally _totally messed this up. It should be fixed now. Sorry for all the derping around. Please excuse me while I try to figure out how to life right._

Jack woke up slowly, vision bleary as he sluggishly registered the waking world. He was right where he’d collapsed into slumber—leaning against Pitch’s hard, stone wall. The little birds in the cages were still being quiet, but a low thrum of chirping had started up at some point while he’d been asleep. Pitch and his Nightmares were nowhere to be found.

Jack was sore all over, and he could feel the telltale itch of ice-scabs slowly forming over his wounds and healing them. Based on the state of his wounds, he’d been out for at least a full day. The winter sprite lifted himself from the wall with a groan, cautiously stretching to relieve the stiffness in his back. Jack grimaced when several of his vertebrae let out a distinctive crack. He didn’t plan on sleeping against a wall again anytime soon.

The quiet chirping drew Jack’s attention, and after he picked up his staff, he strolled over to the prisoners. He noticed some things were different than when he last saw them. The birds had an energy they had been distinctly lacking earlier. Before, they’d all been resting on the side of the cages, as if they couldn’t fly. Now, though, a few—not many—were flitting about.

The mini-teeth quieted as Jack reached them. He stood in front of the lowest-hanging cage, too tired to bother with trying to balance on air currents to reach the higher ones.

“So...What am I going to do with you girls, huh?” He asked, taking a moment to enjoy their unsure glances, “Well, I suppose your... what is she? A mother? A boss? A queen? Well, whatever, Tooth wants her precious girls back so, so desperately... I guess I should reunite you guys, huh?”

Any insecurities that were there before disappeared in an instant at the thought of seeing their matron, and all around Jack the miniature fairies let loose a series of happy whistles and chirps. Jack stepped back when they all flocked toward the door of their cages.

“Oh no,” He said quickly, “I’m not letting you out. Are you kidding?” There had to be thousands of birds in those cages. They could stay behind the bars until the Guardians let them out, preferably after Jack had gotten a few hundred miles away, “No. I’ll just go get Tooth. You chill out and sit tight, alright?”

Evidently, it was not as the little Baby Teeth started kicking up a confused fuss. Eager to get away from the noise, Jack turned to fetch the Tooth Fairy when one of the mini-teeth caught his eye. Among the slew of confused, flying fairies above her, this one perched on the floor of her cage and stared at Jack suspiciously. Unlike the rest of her sisters, this one had a golden plume on her forehead and a birthmark under her eye.

“Well, little Baby Tooth, you know better than to trust me, don’t you?” Jack mumbled, more to himself than to her, “That’s smart. Trusting people will just leave you confused and trapped like…” He trailed off, silent for a moment while a memory flashed before his eyes. Shaking his head, Jack returned his attention to the little Baby Tooth before him. She wasn’t too different from her sisters, really. She was locked up just like the rest of them. Well, if she was smart, she’d take a lesson from this.

It wasn’t any concern of his though, what happened to her. He’d completed his end of the deal with the Guardians, and it was time for them to complete theirs.

Jack cut himself off as a horrible realization dawned on him. He hadn’t actually made an Oath with the Big Four. Perhaps he hadn’t realized at the time because the Guardians were the type who usually kept their word, but no one could really be trusted.  Trusting people always led to being locked up and—

Jack once again shook himself from the flashback.

Well, shoot, what was he supposed to do now? The Guardians could just back out of the deal without any consequences, but now he didn’t have anything to ensure they’d form a pact. Without any leverage, they could just refuse him.

What could he do, then?

Once again, Baby Tooth caught his eye, and Jack grinned as an idea formed in his mind, “You are a marvelous little creature, you know that?” Her horrified stare followed him as he leaped into the air, his power fueled by his elation at what he was about to do. Jack flew through the mess of cages, tapping each one with his staff. Immediately, ice began slowly encasing every cage he touched, thick and sturdy.

When he’d touched all except the one that held Baby Tooth, Jack stopped and shouted out, “Okay listen up! Do not panic! I’m still going to go get your mother—or whatever she is—so just sit tight!”

The birds screamed in their loudest, angriest voices as the ice continued to creep around the cages. Jack sighed and rubbed his forehead with his thumb and forefinger, “No, seriously, you guys don’t want to panic you’ll only—” They weren’t listening. They only chirped louder and blocked out his words.

Angry, Jack swung his staff out, sending a wave of hoarfrost at them and violently rocked all the cages in the process, “SHUT. UP,” He yelled out, and immediately the room was silent, “Finally. Like I was saying, I’m going to go fetch your mom. So stop freaking out, it’ll only use up your limited air supply faster. If you girls stay still and stay silent and only breathe a little bit, you might actually survive,” He finished, just as the ice finished sealing up the cages. Jack could see the terrified, yet also angered faces of the fairies distorted through the ice. They stayed silent.

Jack nodded to himself and quickly flew back down to Baby Tooth’s cage, freezing the lock until it broke right off, “Come on, little Baby Tooth. You should come with me,” He called, reaching a hand inside. She stared up at him, incredulous, from her place at the bottom of the cage, like she couldn’t believe he thought she would just obey him. Jack smiled at the thought before quickly freezing the wings of a fairy that tried to slip past him.

After a minute of patiently waiting, Jack continued, “We don’t have all day, Baby Tooth. Your sisters only have so much air, and they’re using more of it every second,”

She darted her glance back and forth between him and the frozen cages before sighing resignedly and fluttering up to him. Even that short flight tired her out and she had to rest on his shoulder. 

Jack smiled and whispered, “Good girl,” before hopping out of the doorway, quickly sealing it—and the rest of the cage—in a block of ice.

“Okay, lets go,” He said to the mini-tooth on his shoulder, and without further warning he shot off through the cave.

He flew quickly. It wouldn’t do to have them all suffocate and die before he ever got to make his proposition.

Jack had almost reached the exit when the crashed into some kind of barrier. The force of the impact knocked him on his back, and Jack lay there stunned for only a moment before he quickly sat up to see what he ran into. Before him were the Guardians, Bunny, Sandy, and Tooth helping North back up from the impact. All six people present stared at each other dumbly for a minute before Jack managed to get his act together.

“Hey, wasn’t expecting to see you guys here,”

“Jack!” Tooth called out and flew up to him, “We’ve been down here forever searching for you or Pitch or my girls--” She stopped talking as she noticed Baby Tooth on his shoulder, “Oh, you’re all right!”

Tooth began fussing over the little tooth fairy in her hands, cooing and petting her. Jack found himself getting annoyed, though he wasn’t sure why. He wanted nothing more right now than to snatch Baby Tooth away from the fussing Tooth Fairy.

Instead he smiled bashfully as Tooth turned her attention to Jack, “Oh, Jack. You saved her, you really saved them. I knew it. I knew you weren’t as heartless as everybody said you were,” 

“Tooth,” Bunny cut in, a warning in his tone, but Jack interrupted him before he could say any more.

“Oh, it was nothing. I just--”

Jack didn’t have to feign shock when he felt feathery feathers prodding at his teeth. Tooth’s head was practically inside his mouth, she was examining his teeth so closely.

“Your teeth _are_ perfectly white like snow. I knew it! No one with teeth this good could be all bad—”

Jack’s mouth slammed shut with near bone-shattering force, the snap of his teeth echoing through the caverns. Tooth stared at him in horror, clutching her fingers to her chest. One was bleeding—it got cut on one of Jack’s incisors; he could taste the blood—but they were otherwise intact, she having managed to pull her fingers out in time.

Jack pulled out a lone feather caught between his canines and examined it as he said dejectedly, “You’re too fast, Tooth. How’s that supposed to work if you pull your fingers out that quickly?”

Bunny stepped forward, growling lowly, “Ya little—”

“Me, what, Bunny?” Jack cut in, scowling and flicking the feather away. That was when Jack noticed Bunny was back to his usual, boomerang-wielding size, “Aw, why didn’t you stay small? I liked it when you were small. You reminded me of a bunny I met when I first woke up,” Jack cocked his head and smiled as he recalled the wonder of that night, seeing the moon for the first time, seeing that rabbit in the bushes, chasing after it, stabbing it again and again. The blood, the life, the terror of the village as he tore through it later that night.

As if sensing his thoughts, Bunny shivered, “I don’ wanna be remindin’ ya of anythin,’” He shot back.

Jack contemplated this for a second before nodding, “You’re right, you probably don’t. Which reminds me, we don’t have time to chit-chat. Baby Tooth, come here,” He turned his gaze to the fairy perched on Tooth’s shoulder, and again that spark of irritation flashed through Jack. She shouldn’t be on _Tooth’s_ shoulder. 

Baby Tooth continued to glare at Jack, refusing to budge. He smiled patiently, hand stretched out, beckoning her, “Hurry. Your sisters are anxiously holding their breaths awaiting your return. You don’t want to keep them waiting any longer than you have to, do you?”

Horror flashed on her features and Baby Tooth reluctantly flew back into Jack’s hands. His smile became softer and considerably more genuine as he stroked the golden feather on her head. He turned his attention back to the others, “Come on. We don’t have all day,”

He turned back and followed his previous path, moving quickly. He was suddenly very anxious to see what everyone’s reactions would be. It wasn’t often he dealt with people in their right minds. Thankfully the others obediently followed and barely a minute later, they found themselves before the multitude of frozen cages.

Jack heard a scream behind him, and Tooth was suddenly flying from cage to cage, trying to break the ice without rattling her fairies too badly. Normally, that would have been an easy enough feat, but this ice was fortified by Jack’s magic. It wouldn’t break apart so effortlessly. At the sight of their mother, the little fairies all broke into a chorus of chirps before quickly quieting back down, more from lack of air than lack of excitement. Some looked light headed already, Jack noted amusedly.

“Bloody ‘ell, mate. Let the sheilas go,” Bunny said from behind him, probably meaning to make it sound like a threat, but all the horror in his voice made it sound more like a plea instead.

“I will. I will. Maybe. I just want to make sure you all fulfill your end of the deal first,” Jack said, turning to face the other three Guardians present.

A shriek of “Jack!” was the only warning he got before he was knocked to the ground in a violent mess of feathers, his new wounds screaming at him as they were reopened. He chuckled weakly as Tooth held a saber to his neck.

“Uh, hey. You know, I think you have some of the most violent mood swings I’ve ever seen. And believe me, I’ve seen some violent mood swings. You might want to consider some treatment for bipolar disorder...”

Jack trailed off and swallowed as she snarled, pressing harder on the blade, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now,”

“I’m the only one who could break the ice in time to save your girls?” He pointed out, an small, uncertain smile on his face. He had never really realized it before, but Tooth really did remind him of a bird, with her feathers and flight and random bloodthirsty attacks. Birds were vicious and deadly. He hated them.

Conflict was plain in Tooth’s eyes, but finally she shuffled off of him, her sword hanging limply in her hand. Jack stood up as well, flinching when his wounds flared up at the movement.

“Ow. Okay, I can see you’re not happy with this development, so we should get this over with quick, yeah?”

“What is all this for?” North stepped up and asked, gesturing to the frozen room at large.

“Like I said,” Jack replied, stepping in front of everybody, “I stopped Pitch, which is not easy,” Jack gestured to his clothes caked with died blood and quickly dampening with new blood. “So I want to make sure you fulfill my condition,”

“We’ll do it! We’ll do it,” Tooth cried out, “Just free them! They’re running out of air!”

“Oh, you will? Good, then you guys wouldn’t mind making an Oath, would you?” 

The Guardians all gasped (sans Sandy, who merely threw up exclamation mark after exclamation mark above his head) when they heard that, as if it was the most blasphemous thing anyone could have said. Jack stared with one raised eyebrow. Sure, Oaths tended to involve lots of commitment and had the nasty habit of killing anyone who didn’t follow through with them, but it wasn’t like they were uncommon. In the Underground, Spirits used Oaths all the time. They were the only reliable way to ensure a deal was fulfilled. Heck, a Spirit had to take an Oath to become a Guardian!

Finally, North spoke up, “Jack, I do not think you know of what you speak. Oaths are dangerous they—”

“Ya put your life on the line when ya make an Oath, mate,” Bunny said frantically, “It’s not something to be trifled with,”

“Yeah, I know that, Bunny. I’m not ‘trifling with’ anything. One Oath in exchange for Tooth’s fairies,”

“Ya can’t be serious mate,” Bunny exclaimed, “Ya just... we don’t even know what ya want yet!”

“One thing,” Jack shot back, “I’ll ask one thing, one favor, from each of you, and you have to do everything in your power to do what I ask. That’s my condition,”

“Wha-Tha...That’s completely ridiculous! I mean, ya could ask us to go out there an’ destroy all ‘umankind!”

“Ooh, I didn’t think of that, but that’s a good idea, Bunny!” Jack quipped lightheartedly, but he quickly switched back to being serious, “Look, that’s my condition. Take it or leave it. I understand if you have to think on it. I don’t mind waiting. I have all the time in the world, the fairies on the other hand...” Jack shrugged, “Well, they, not so much,”

“Okay! Okay, we’ll do it!” Tooth said frantically.

“Good,” Jack said. Immediately his whole demeanor changed. His back went ramrod straight, his smile replaced with a look of concentration. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, the room was charged with an ancient magical energy. The Guardians obligatorily followed suit as the magic wrapped around them.

“Do you, Sandman, Toothiana, Nicholas St. North, and Bunnymund, the Guardians of Childhood, swear to each fulfill—to the best of your abilities—one wish of Jack Frost, Spirit of Winter, at the time of his asking and to immediately relinquish to Jack Frost one mini-tooth fairy of his choice, in exchange for the release of the rest of Toothiana’s fairies?”

“We—”

“That wasn’t part of the deal!” Tooth shot out when the second half of his deal registered in her mind. Jack didn’t say anything, simply running a gentle thumb over Baby Tooth’s golden feather again. Tooth looked from Baby Tooth to the rest of her fairies to Jack and back to the mini fairy in his hand.

She sighed in resignation, glaring at Jack, “You horrible, vile thing. We do,” Bunny and North repeated the vow and Sandy crossed over his heart.

“Then from now until such time as the contract is completed, you are under Oath,” Jack finished in the typical formal manner. Immediately the magic coalesced into its typical ancient script—the meaning of which had long since been lost to time—and wrapped around the bodies of the five Spirits taking part int he Oath before simply vanishing. Jack felt, as they all felt, the contract binding his life force. If he went against it, he would disappear from existence, simple as that.

“Welp, that was fun,” Jack said jovially, “See you guys when I think of what I want you to do,” He began leisurely walking toward one of the room’s many exits. 

Behind him, Tooth called out, “Jack, my fairies. You need to release my fairies now or they’ll suffocate!”

He half-turned around, wearing an innocently confused expression, “Now? Why would I have to release them now? I never said when I’d release them, or that they had to be alive. Check the fine print. I guarantee it won’t be there,”

“But—” Tooth’s wings stopped altogether and collapsed to the floor on her knees, “No,” She half-whispered, half-choked out, “No!”

“Yep,” Jack replied, “It was fun doing business with you,” Jack mock-saluted them. Everyone blinked at Jack, their expressions equal parts horror and fury. Jack watched as Bunny sat back on his haunches, seemingly in disbelief. North stumbled back as if physically struck and Sandy—when did he get all his sand back?—started shooting signs above his head far too fast for anyone to understand. 

Tooth scrambled from the floor to the cages. “Don’t worries my babies. I’ll get you out, don’t worry. Don’t worry,” She slammed at the ice, but it wouldn’t so much as chip, “I’ll get you out,” She whispered desperately, “I will. I will,”

“Strewth, mate,” A shellshocked Bunny said as the others went to help their fellow Guardian, “This is... just... I can’ even... ‘ow could anyone?”

And finally Jack couldn’t take it anymore. He broke down even as his wounds ached from the act of it. He had to lean on his staff for support otherwise he’d fall right to the ground in a heap of laughter. He laughed so hard, he had to wipe the tears his eyes as he finally settled down enough to speak.

“Y-You guys a-are so gullible. You sh-should see your faces,” As he looked upon their befuddled countenances he broke out into hysterics all over again, “This is too great,” Though he was visibly quaking from his laughing, Jack managed to pull himself together enough to tap the ground with his staff. Immediately fractures started appearing in the icy confines until the ice shattered into fragments so fine, they created diamond dust in the air. The collective sound of a thousand little fairies gasping in big gulps of air and one boy laughing echoed through the halls.

“I-I wouldn’t let a bunch of birds die and rot in Pitch’s lair. He’d be on me like a pack of flies. I mean, he’s probably already recovering and plotting how to get revenge for the bullet to the head I gave him,” Jack said when his laughter finally subsided, though his eyes still danced in mirth, “Honestly people, use your heads. Or don’t. That was hilarious. So worth everything. Just. Your faces. I have to g-go. Bye,” He said, rushing out before he lost control again.

As he flew down the passageways, Baby Tooth on his shoulder and staff in his hand, Jack felt better than he had in decades. The Guardians, huh. Oh, he’d have fun messing with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the ridiculous wait for such a short chapter. No actual excuse. I was lazy. Sorry again.
> 
> So we get to see an example of what Jack thinks is funny. Jack you are fucked up. Anyway, you also get a peek into several of his little personality quirks. 
> 
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> ~~  
> what even is dialogue? How I write people talk?~~  
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> Next Chapter: Jack is not terribly fond of Jamie's mother, and yes Jack. You do need to go shopping.


	5. The Importance of Stress Relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, things don't go your way. People don't listen to what you say. The shop takes all your money. And your friends get hurt. 
> 
> What do you do on days like those?
> 
> Well, Jack thinks stress relief is very important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, I'm just gonna warn you now. This chapter contains some gore toward the end. So watch out...for that.

Jack hummed a little tune under his breath as he pulled a bobby-pin from his hair and proceeded to lock-pick the front door of his home. After centuries of practice, it really was as easy as pie, especially when nobody could catch you in the act. After mere seconds, Jack heard the telltale click of the door unlocking and went inside, kicking the door shut with his foot.

“I’m home!” He called out, unheard. Well, of course he was unheard! Jamie was at school and little Sophie was at the daycare while their mother was at work. No one was here to listen to him.

Ah, there was one, Jack amended as the dog, Abby, crept down the stairs toward him. She had been growling menacingly, but once she recognized who was at the door, Abby’s tail immediately folded between her legs, and her ears pressed back against her head. She stopped at the bottom of the staircase, not willing to get any closer.

Jack kneeled down as if to seem less intimidating, but his predatory grin completely negated the effect, “Hey Abby, look. We have a new housemate starting today,” He pulled Baby Tooth off his shoulder and held her out toward the dog, “Her name is Baby Tooth,” Somehow, Jack’s grin grew wider, “And now she’s mine,”

Fluffing up indignantly, Baby Tooth let loose a tirade, “ _I’m not yours. I’m mother’s. Always mother’s. Not yours not yours,_ ”

“Oh hush. Of course you are. As per the contract, you’r mine. We’re connected now,” Jack said, tapping his temple with his hand. Ever since the Oath with the Guardians, Jack could feel her consciousness like the buzzing of a hummingbird in the back of his mind. It allowed him to read her general emotion and location and was the reason he could understand a word of her bird-like chirping.

She could feel it too, he knew. He would always be there in the back of her mind, and they’d always be aware of the other.

The old grandfather clock against the far wall dividing the living room and the kitchen chimed one, and Jack knew Mrs. Bennett would be coming home for her lunch break soon, “Well, Baby, you play with Abby for a bit. I have some things to do,”

Eager to get away, Baby Tooth flew away from him to the dog, perching on the greyhound’s nose. Jack stood up, absently brushing his hoody with his freed hand before heading to the kitchen.

Once there, he set his staff against the counter and turned the four sections of the stove onto high. He then went to the fridge, opening it and seeing what was inside. It wasn’t well-stocked; they’d have to go shopping soon, but Jack took a piece of leftover pizza he found and perched on the counter next to the stove while he ate.

As he chewed, he pondered what he should ask of the Guardians. Tooth was easy enough. He knew what he wanted from her. The others though...what could he get from the Sandman, Santa Claus, and the Easter Bunny that he couldn’t buy from the Underground?

“Pitch would know what to ask them,” Jack mumbled dejectedly. Pitch had that ability to ask from people the one thing that would torture them for the rest of their lives—it was something to do with how he could read their fears. Jack envied that. It would be so much easier to figure out what to tell them to do if he instinctively knew what they were afraid of. Well, no one ever said he had to hurry with his favors. He could take his time and get to know them better. Besides, watching them squirm knowing he could come at any second and ask them anything was fun enough. 

He was curious about his memories, though. Was Tooth telling the truth when she said she had his memories of a childhood he’d never known about? A part of him wanted to leave right now and head straight for her, demanding she give them to him but...

Annoyed, Jack mussed his hair and groaned, “Why does she have to be a bird?” Jack _hated_ birds. Whenever they were nearby, he had trouble breathing and his heart beat double-time. It wasn’t so bad when they were in cages, and he knew they couldn’t touch him, but Jack made sure to keep a healthy distance between himself and any wild bird while he was flying.

And then there was Tooth and her veritable army of little birds flittering about everywhere in groups of thousands around her palace. The thought of it sent shivers down Jack’s spine. Not to mention Tooth herself. She was a _big bird_. Who was very angry. With sharp swords. 

“Why didn’t you just ask her to fetch the memories back in Pitch’s lair?” Jack asked himself, “Stupid stupid _stupid_ ,” After a pause, Jack sighed. There was no avoiding heading to the Tooth Palace now.

...but he didn’t have to go immediately. He could...go get a change of clothes first to replace his bloody hoodie. And maybe he’d stop by a few countries on the way and mess with a few people. Yeah, that sounded like a plan. It wasn’t like he was in any rush...

The sound of the front door opening and shutting drew Jack away from his thoughts and he hopped off the counter, grabbing his staff and heading for the entryway.  Mrs. Bennett gave a content sigh as she entered her home, setting her purse down by the door and kicking off her shoes.

“Welcome back, Mrs. Bennett,” Jack said, keeping pace with her as she slowly headed for the kitchen, “Going to make lunch? What are you making today?”

She shivered, “It’s cold here. Did Jamie turn off the heater again?”

“Nope. That’s just me. I’m cold. You really shouldn’t be blaming kids for your problems,” Jack chided, wagging a finger at the ignorant adult as she headed for the thermostat, only to learn that it was, in fact, on and set to eighty degrees.

“Weird. Must be a draft,” She mumbled as she resumed her ambling pace to the kitchen. Jack frowned, getting impatient.

“Hurry up. Faster, faster,” He mumbled, waving her on. She ignored him, naturally, but it didn’t help Jack’s current annoyance he felt toward her. She was a menace, and really, Jack wanted nothing more than to shove her out a tenth floor window. Unfortunately that would happen about never. He couldn’t even drive her insane with his snowflakes because then her kids would be sent into the foster system humans were so fond of. Jack couldn’t let that happen. Jamie wouldn’t leave Burgess. Ever. 

Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t mess with her a bit. When she finally made it into the kitchen, Jack smiled and exclaimed, “slippery,” while creating a small patch of slick ice beneath her.

The results were immediate. Jamie’s mom slipped spectacularly, hands thrown up in the air as she fell. She landed right where Jack intended and as he watched, the sound of screaming and sizzling filled the house. The smell of burning flesh quickly following.

Mrs. Bennett all-too-quickly pushed herself away from the burning stovetop, collapsing to the ground on the far side of the kitchen. Her face was unharmed—too bad—but both her forearms and her left hand were covered in various degrees of burns. Some parts of her skin were bubbling.

Jack whistled, “Wow. You need to be more careful, Mrs. Bennett. Someday, you might get in real trouble if you keep being this clumsy,”

As if in response, Mrs Bennett let out a choked sob.

“That looks like it hurts. Are you sure you don’t want to be calling an ambulance or something?” Jack waited for a moment then shrugged, “Well, okay then. Your choice,”

Abby, Baby Tooth now perched on the top of her head, cautiously walked into the room and sniffed at Mrs. Bennett. The woman seemed to be going into some sort of shock, staring at her arms and refusing to move them for fear of the pain the act would cause.

At that moment, the front door burst open and someone came inside, “Mrs. Bennett? Are you okay? I heard you screaming,” The stranger shouted out, before frantically rushing through the house looking for her. “My god,” He exclaimed upon finding her, “What happened?”

Jack had to hop away to avoid being walked through as the man knelt next to the injured woman. Mrs. Bennett looked up at him dazedly, “Mr. Dewitt?” She asked airily, “I-I slipped—I think. The stove top is on. Why is the stove on? I don’t remember...” She trailed off with a hiss, her attention brought back to her arms.

“O-oh god. I’ll call an ambulance. Don’t move okay?” The man—a Mr. Dewitt apparently—pulled out his cell phone, and Jack deemed his fun over.

Snagging Baby Tooth, he called out, “Take care,” before heading out of the kitchen and heading up the stairs.

“ _She’s hurt! You hurt her! She needs help! How could you! She’s hurt! Hurt_!” Baby Tooth wailed at him.

“It’s not so bad,” Jack shot back, “It’s not like she’s dead, and what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger. Or something. Hey, at least she gets the rest of the day off of work, yeah?” Jack asked, laughing softly. Baby Tooth merely stared at him in horrified wonder, not appreciating the humor. He shrugged in response.

After making his way to the attic, Jack gently deposited Baby Tooth on the seat of an old, dusty rocking chair, “I’m going to change,” He explained slowly, “and then we’re going to pay a visit to your precious mother, okay?” Jack felt a chill at the thought, but Baby Tooth looked so happy that Jack was able to shove his trepidation down.

Sorted in boxes in the Bennett’s attic were all sorts of clothes—most of which Jack deposited there after he got new ones throughout the years. The building itself was slightly older than Jack—having been a school building when it was first crafted—and the winter spirit had taken up residence here nearly three hundred years ago. He stuck through it through all of its renovations and refurbishing. He called it home when others called it a museum. He was its sole occupant when it was abandoned and left to rot. He stuck through the difficult years when a rich kid with too much time on his hands bought it in the seventies and completely remodeled it to fit the times. Jack didn’t think he’d ever get the image of neon carpeting and tie-dye walls out of his head. 

And of course Jack lived here when a pregnant mother and her young son moved in a few years ago in an attempt to escape from an abusive husband. Now people called this place the Bennett’s household, but through all its names and phases, it had always been Jack’s. He didn’t mind sharing though, not with Jamie. He could do without the others, but Jamie was fine, and even Abby was okay.

Jack sighed as he looked at his clothes. They were either completely outdated or ragged. He needed to get some new clothes soon.

“Or maybe now? Yeah, I could get some now, but where?” Jack cocked his head to the side, pondering all the nearby shops. There was always the Walmart nearby—but their clothes were cheap and the fashion was so mundane these days. He was tired of only having one pocket. Jack moped, looking morosely down at his hoodie—now ragged and practically in pieces, “You know, I’ve been wanting a cape for a while...” Jack trailed off, thinking, before bursting out, “Actually, you know what? If we’re going to go shopping, we should go all out! Baby Tooth, we are going to the Underground!”

Baby Tooth chirped, startled and confused, when Jack picked her up and then withdrew a small, round, ornate hand mirror from his pocket. He carelessly tossed it into the air, but instead of falling and shattering, as would be expected, it floated, circling lazily and growing until it was taller and wider than Jack. When it stilled, the mirror spanned from floor to ceiling, and it didn’t reflect Jack Frost and Baby Tooth. In a wobbling image, it showed an ornate city surrounding a dream-like castle. If one looked closely enough, people could be seen walking the streets of this city. 

“Well, let’s go,” Jack said and hopped _through_ the mirror with no more fanfare. 

Going through any portal was always a little jarring, and Jack stumbled slightly upon arriving at his destination. He righted himself with practiced ease and took a moment—as he always did—to appreciate the beauty of the city he just arrived in.

How it got the name the “Underground” would always be a mystery to Jack, as it wasn’t underground at all. It was, in truth, in a magical pocket of air at the bottom of the ocean. It was built like any typical fortress city, a castle in the center with the streets branching out in circling tiers around it. Near the outskirts where Jack landed was supposedly the poor district. It was where the desperate ones, the unbelieved and powerless ones, and the shady ones took residence. This section of town was where Spirits could find humans and cheap ale for sale. Here was brawls and murder and thievery, and people called it the Blacklight District.

Yet even in the Blacklight, the buildings that lined seashell streets were made of mother-of-pearl and their slightly off-white color hinted at a rainbow sheen whenever they caught the light of the floating lamps found everywhere in the city. No natural light made it this far underwater, so the dim, orange light of the lanterns were necessary to see. 

On his shoulder, Baby Tooth cooed in amazement, “ _This is beautiful! What is it? What is this place?_ ” 

“You’ve never been here before?” Jack asked, stunned. He thought everyone knew about this place, “Well, this is the Underground, the place to go for bargain steals, black-market deals, and cheap thrills!” Jack exclaimed with a flourish, “Humans typically call it the Lost City of Atlantis or some-such, but that’s kind of a mouthful don’t you think? Oh, and if you happen to be liked enough, you can go up to the pretty castle over there and partake of food and dances fit for the gods.” Jack shrugged, “Or so I’ve heard. Never bothered with it. Don’t much like formal get-togethers.”

Baby Tooth nodded absently as she took in the appearance of the local guards of the Underground: The Zora. Covered head to fin-like foot in microscopic scales, tough as a dragon’s hide, and as iridescent as the building they guarded, Zora were walking, talking weapons. Besides the seven-foot pike they each wielded, each Zora sported detachable, blade-like fins on their forearms and calves that they often used as boomerangs in long-range battle and an intimate knowledge of martial arts in case battles got up close and personal. Not to mention their capability for perfect teamwork; fight one and expect twenty more to join the battle within seconds.

Yes, Jack knew with intimate detail their fighting prowess. There was no counting how many times Jack had done something that resulted in him fighting for dear life against them. Technically, Jack Frost was banned from the Underground, but when had being banned ever stopped him from anything? Besides, while everyone knew the name Jack Frost, considerably fewer knew what he actually looked like and unlike the patrollers in the upper echelons, the guards of the Blacklight hardly cared who was actually supposed to be there. In the pearlescent shambles and back alleys of Atlantis, business was business, no matter who partook of it and how questionable it might be.

Jack smiled at Baby Tooth, “Well, I’m just going to buy some clothes. Why don’t you explore and see if there’s anything you like? I’ll come get you when I’m done,”

Trilling happily, Baby Tooth took off, her wings humming as she disappeared into the throng of Spirits walking the streets and entering shops. As he watched her go, Jack realized for the first time that she was a bird as well. Which, of course she was - she was Tooth’s baby - but somehow she didn’t set him on edge like her cohorts did. It was strange and Jack pondered the thought as he traipsed through the streets to his favorite shop.

Just as Jack was passing the shop, Carnalval, a small, dainty hand grasped his arm and gently tugged him back, “How mean, Jack. It’s been so long and you just pass by without saying anything,” a pouty voice said, “Why don’t you come play with us?” 

Jack turned to face the nymph—a courtesan from Carnalval—and her two friends smirking, “Rude, huh. I guess you’re right. Hello Dione, Phoebe, and... I don’t think I’ve met you before,” Jack inclined his head toward the last girl. 

Her hair ran in bright waves down her back, gray-green eyes staring at him as she straightened and patted down what little clothes she wore (though she still had on considerably more than the other two) before announcing simply, “I am Nyche,”

Phoebe, jubilant as ever, giggled and pulled Nyche closer with the hand that wasn’t holding Jack, “She’s new and we’re looking for someone to break her in,”

Dione grabbed Nyche’s other arm, latching onto her as if she was the only thing keeping Dione standing, “Won’t you come join us Jack? We’ll have so much fun together,”

Jack considered the proposition for a moment. Indeed, it sounded fun; however, the price for sleeping with a nymph left one exhausted for hours afterward, and Jack wasn’t comfortable with leaving Baby Tooth alone for that long here.

“As tempting as that sounds, I’m afraid I can’t today,” Jack fisted his hand, and when he opened it again, a crystalline-ice rose rested in his palm. He placed the flower in Nyche’s hair, “It’s a shame, passing up such a beauty,” He whispered into her ear, making the other blush, before pulling away to head off, “Perhaps some other time,” He waved his farewell

Phoebe tightened her grip on his hoodie, “Oh, Jack, don’t be such a stick in the mud. Come on,” She said, giggling and pulling on his sleeve.

He turned just enough to glare at her from the corner of his eye and repeated with emphasis, “Some _other_ time,” 

Phoebe froze and dropped her hand. After a minute, she managed to work up a weak laugh and reply, “Later then. Keep your promise, Jack,”

Smiling back, Jack replied, “Of course,” before leaving the three behind.

It was two blocks and one shortcut through an unlit alleyway later that someone grabbed him from behind. Couldn’t he stroll through a suspiciously dark alleyway in peace? Apparently not. He whirled around, prepared to give a _lecture_ to Phoebe on what “other time” meant, except, it wasn’t her.

It was a human, scared, lost, and disheveled. He looked to be a couple years older than Jack appeared. He spoke up, his voice frantic in its fear, “T-thank god. I thought I was alone here. What the fuck is this place? There’re monster everywhere! N-no, for now we just have to get out,” The man grabbed Jack’s shoulders, andin doing so noticed the state of Jack’s clothes, “Su much blood! Are you hurt?” 

The winter spirit raised a brow, “Not anymore,” Jack smiled, bemused, “but I don’t think I’m the one you should be worried about, human,”

The man’s eyes widened in realization, “No. Y-you can’t be...”

“Can’t be what? One of those ‘monsters’? I don’t know if you noticed, but the only humans here are the ones in cages or on leashes. And you, I guess. Well, I’ll have to fix that, won’t I?” As he reached out to grab the stranger, Jack couldn’t believe his luck. He had been planning to trade him some of his homemade ice creations for his clothes, but a human would get him so much more. 

“N-no get away from me!” The man threw a punch as Jack grabbed his other wrist, catching Jack in the jaw.

Immediately everything went still. The man didn’t move, frozen by the storm brewing in the winter spirit’s eyes as Jack attempted to not outright massacre this human right now. He couldn’t kill this guy, he was Jack’s main bargaining chips. He couldn’t kill—He couldn’t kill…

Grabbing the collar of the man’s shirt, Jack slammed him into the alley wall, twisting an arm behind his back.

Eyes closed and an eyebrow twitching, Jack smiled at the petrified man, “Look, I’ve had a long day. I had to shoot my friend in the head. My Baby Tooth keeps attempting to run away from me. I’m still not allowed to kill Jamie’s mom. My clothes are ruined, and later I’m going to have to visit a giant bird’s nest. Do not. Test. Me.” Silence, “Good. Now, come on,” 

The stranger didn’t put up a fuss as Jack all but dragged him the rest of the way to the shop, and thankfully nothing else got in his way for the rest of the trip. He wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t have simply went on a murder spree if something had. 

The door opened with a surprisingly mundane chime of a bell as Jack tugged the struggling man into the shop. The building was filled with the aroma of some sort of incense and a haunting violin melody echoed through the store. The space was large, but it was filled with stocked up shelves, tables, and racks in such a way that anyone would feel claustrophobic. A centaur stood behind the sales counter placed right before the door. He had been disinterestedly flipping through a book, but upon hearing the chime he looked up to greet his customers.

“Hello and welcome to—Ah, Jack Frost! It’s been a while. What brings you here, and is that a human I see?”

“Hey Torin. Need new clothes again, and yep, it is.” Jack asked, bringing his trade up to the counter.

“P-please let me go. I-I—”

“He’s good merchandise,” Jack explained over the man’s begging “He’s strong. Split my lip, I think,” Jack felt out his lip with his tongue. Yep, definitely split, though his ice was already healing the wound, “and he’s got lots of meat on his bones,” 

Torin reached out and grabbed the man by his chin, turning his head this way and that with an inspecting eye before declaring, “He’ll do, I suppose,” Torin all but yanked and the human all but flew over the counter, holding him in place with one hand despite the man’s struggles as he turned back to Jack, “Your wrist,”

Smiling, Jack held his left hand above the table, palm up, as Torin tapped his wrist with one finger. In response, golden script written in a forgotten language wrapped around Jack’s wrist, evidence of the Contract just made. This was the most popular way of dealing in the Blacklight. It was designed to kill anyone who attempted to steal more than the agreed upon amount.

As Jack observed the Contract, his smile slipped off. It was a simple, single line of small, faint script. Frowning, he addressed the centaur, “No. Oh no, that guy is worth more than _this_ ,”

The Centaur spared him only a passing glance before replying, “I am not wrong. That is what this human is worth,”

“I literally just made a rose that would be worth more than this. What are you trying to do?”

“Hold one moment,” Torin said before looking the human in the eye and intoning, “You will cease this meaningless struggle immediately,” The spell took effect and the human complied, standing stock straight and staring blankly ahead. Nodding, the centaur turned his full attention to Jack, “I am trying to do nothing. That is the highest price I pay for damaged goods,”

“Damaged goods?” Jack asked, affronted, “What damage?”

Torin’s answer was to lift off the man’s shirt, revealing a bruised torso and shoulder. Jack winced as the memory of slamming the guy into the wall flashed across his mind.

“Oh, that damage,” Jack paused and shrugged, “It’s just a little bruising. You can cut it right out,”

That drew an amused huff from the shop-keep, “A _little_ bruising. Well regardless, the goods are damaged, and therefore that’s what they are worth. Go buy your wares,”

“What could I buy with this?”

“A much needed pair of shoes,”

Jack scoffed, “Who needs shoes? I don’t. I need a cape, and a new jacket, and maybe some pants,”

“I am very sorry, but there is no way to buy all that on your budget,” Torin retorted, a small smile on his face.

Jack opened his mouth, only to shut it again as he leaned against the counter giggling. When he pulled himself back together a few seconds later, Jack replied, “Thank you, kind sir, for letting me know,”

“Always a pleasure to serve my customers,”

“Oh really?” Jack asked, leaning against his staff, “Then pray tell, what can this customer do to increase his poor man’s budget?”

“Hmm,” Torin placed a hand to his chin in thought, “I have found that my ice bombs have recently run out of stock,”

“You want bombs?” Jack asked, perking up, “Well why didn’t you just say so? How many?”

Torin got his signature calculating look as he slowly replied, “I don’t suppose you could make two dozen of—”

“Done,” Jack interrupted, slamming his staff into the ground. Immediately, twenty-four spheres made of ice about the size of Jack’s palm materialized on the counter, each translucent with a glowing center, “Is this enough for my clothes?”

Torin blinked once before letting out another chuckle, “I suppose I should no longer be surprised by your power. Very well. Give me your wrist,”

Once again, the shop keep tapped Jack’s left wrist, and he watched in satisfaction as the script grew complex and thick with value, “Now that’s more like it,”

The centaur snorted, “Go buy your clothing, Jack Frost,”

Nodding his acknowledgment, Jack obliged. Reaching the clothes racks, Jack stared at the merchandise, occasionally pulling a prospective top out before rejecting it and putting it back. Finally, he pulled out a navy blue hooded military-style coat that caught his eye. Quickly removing his ruined hoodie, Jack slid it on and zipped it up and was pleasantly surprised that it was comfortable, if a little big. Well, that’s what he got for buying secondhand. The clincher though, was all the pockets it had. Two regular ones, a chest pocket, one located at his left upper arm, and even one hidden pocket on the inside of the coat. Yep. Jack was sold. It wasn’t much later that he found a pair of form fitting nearly-black jeans that fit him well enough, but no matter how Jack searched, he couldn’t find the last of his item on his list.

Confused, Jack called out, “Hey, where do you keep your capes?”

Torin appeared from behind a nearby shelf and walked up to Jack, “Capes?”

“Yeah you know. Those thing that people wear that billow out behind them? Preferably has lots of pockets?”

“I do know of what you speak. Hmm, well if you do not see them here, then I suppose I do not have them in stock. You will have to come back later,”

Jack narrowed his eyes, “You...you planned that, didn’t you?” He pointed an accusing finger at the amused centaur, “You swindler!”

“I do not believe a murderer has any right to point fingers,” The Centaur retorted, and Jack grinned despite himself.

“Yeah, well, the man-eater has no right to be calling anyone out,”

“Says the one can’t even rea—,”

“You swore never to mention tha—”

Jack stopped mid-speech as Baby Tooth’s happy little spark suddenly changed into one of extreme distress. Eyes wide, Jack launched himself over the shocked centaur’s and out of the store, foregoing the ground entirely as he flew over obstacles in his rush to reach Baby. Her distress only continued to grow, morphing into fear the longer Jack took, so he pushed himself harder. Faster. He had to get to her before it was too late!

And suddenly he’d arrived. There she was, trapped in the hand of some Cyclops who was mumbling about dinner and appetizers. Jack’s vision went red. How dare he! How dare vermin like him...!

Forgoing his usual warnings, forsaking even his smile, Jack grabbed the giant’s wrist—the wrist connected to the hand that held his precious Baby—and froze it solid, breaking it off from the main body with a small twitch

The Cyclops howled, holding his handless, frostbitten arm. Jack spared a moment to ensure Baby Tooth was alive and uninjured before turning his attention to the brute before him. Jack was still beyond words, so he kicked the dirtbag down to the ground, straddling its stomach. The winter Spirit was wondering what to do next when he found a dagger made of ice in his hand. When had he made that? No matter, it was exactly what he needed. Holding the blade with both hands, Jack plunged it into the vermin’s chest over and over again.

“Do Not. Touch Her. She’s. Mine!” He found himself saying, each word punctuated with another stab.

Somewhere in his mind, Jack registered that ice was creeping along the ground, entrapping the beast and anyone in the vicinity, keeping them from moving. Far away, the thing below him was howling in pain and possibly anger, but none of that mattered in the wake of this thing’s folly. How dare this scum touch his Baby Tooth? What did he think gave him the right to do that? He was nothing! His existence was Jack’s bane and Jack would **tear him to shreds**!

Imbedding the dagger into the miserable creature’s shoulder—the shoulder connected to the arm that grabbed Baby Tooth—Jack dragged it down the length of the beast’s limb. He repeated the process until the arm was little more than a series of bloody ribbons.

The thing glared at him with hatred, but Jack didn’t care. Its pathetic emotion was nothing compared to the all-encompassing fury that burned through Jack. That eye. That eye had leered at Baby Tooth. It didn’t deserve to exist. Jack dug the tip of his blade into the socket, and twisted until the eyeball was little more than mush draining down the thing’s face and Jack’s blade. Howls of pain erupted from the beast. Good. It deserved pain. That mouth though. It spoke badly of Baby Tooth. It had to go. Prying the beast’s jaw open, Jack reached in and grabbed ahold of the tongue, pulling until it came out of the thing’s mouth with a wet, squelching tear. Jack quickly tossed the useless muscle aside and braced the creature’s head with his dagger-wielding head, grabbing its lower jaw and yanking down. The sound of a loud popping and something ripping and then Jack was holding the lower half of the creature’s face in his hand. And a detached ear as well. Oops. Oh well, it didn’t need both ears to hear Jack.

Throwing the jaw away, Jack leaned down to the creature’s still attached ear and commanded, “You don’t touch my Baby Tooth. Ever,” Bracing both sides of the beast’s head, Jack jerked, and with a loud crack, the spine severed, ending the pathetic creature’s life.

All was silent, no one even daring to breathe as the boy spirit sat hunched over the dead body. The bloody ice-dagger cracked and exploded. Still, no one moved. 

Finally Jack took a deep breath, raising his head and smiling, “Wow. That was therapeutic. I needed that. I didn’t realize how stressed I was,” 

Standing up and stepping away from the ex-Cyclops, Jack looked himself over. He was covered in spurts of blood, but thankfully the dark hue of his new coat and pants hid most of it. Other than that, everything was in order. Pleased, Jack turned to his companion, “Hey Baby Tooth, I finished shopping. It’s time to go see Tooth now,” Jack held out his hand expectantly, and to his happy surprise, she flew over without a fuss, landing on his hand and pointedly not looking at the dead thing next to them. New clothes, Baby Tooth actually cooperating, today was starting to look up. Even confronting the Tooth Fairy didn’t seem as daunting as before.

Smiling, Jack picked up his staff, deposited Baby Tooth on his shoulder, and took out his mirror-pass, opening the portal back to Burgess. 

Next stop: the Tooth Palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter was great fun. In a way, it's got some of my favorite moments in the story so far, but in other ways, I don't like parts of this chapter at all. I have lots to say about this chapter, but I'll try to keep the author's note shortish.
> 
> It's probably my most edited chapter so far. Jack and Torin's whole conversation was not in the original version on the Kink meme at all.
> 
> Speaking of, I've grown to really like Torin. I'm not entirely sure how he's still alive, constantly messing with Jack like that, but he's survived. And he's not really intimidated by the kid at all either. So kudos to you quasi-sort-of-cannibalistic centaur. Kudos to you. (is it cannibalism if the thing that's eating the human isn't technically entirely human?)  
> And I also really like Atlantis too. You'll probably be seeing more of it later. Whether in-story or as part of some of the extra oneshots I'll likely make for this, I'm not sure. But you'll be seeing more of it.
> 
> Next Time: We finally step into the actual plot of this book as we get the start of Jack's memories. Hmm.
> 
> As always, if you have any questions, comments, and/or concerns, feel free to leave me a comment and I'll do my best to answer without spoiling anything.
> 
> ~Saka Out


	6. Playing with the Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tooth and Jack get along about as well as cats and dogs, or maybe people and fleas. Jack really just wants to get his memories and get out, but of course he can't resist sending a few taunts Tooth's way in the process.
> 
> One day, Jack is sure, that's going to get him killed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry for the delay, and also because it's a bit of a shorter chapter. the next one is longer, I swear.

Jack hovered in the air, looking at the Tooth Palace before him—a colorful, floating piece of art illuminated by the setting sun. Jack thought he might have been able to enjoy the skill with which the Palace was crafted, if he didn’t hear the sound of a thousand wings pulsating through the air.

Taking a deep breath, Jack tugged on a lock of blood-stiffened hair and told himself, “She’s just the Tooth Fairy. Nothing more. She’s just a—”

A questioning and slightly hesitant chirp sounded from Jack’s shoulder, and he jumped, looking at Baby Tooth, “Don’t scare me like that,”

Forcing on a smile, Jack picked up the mini-fairy, clutching her to his chest and petting her little golden feather as he forced himself to head forward. Slowly the green blurs came into focus as little fairies, and all-too-soon Jack was amid the spires that made up the structure. Almost immediately a dozen of the little bir...fairies noticed Jack and flew off, probably to alert their queen.

As Jack settled on a platform, Baby Tooth wriggled in his grasp, which, Jack realized, was slowly getting tighter.

Quickly letting go, Jack gave an apologetic smile, “Sorry, Baby. I’m just nervous is all,”

She trilled, “ _I know. Can feel it. Why? Why are you scared?_ ”

Jack cocked his head, “Scared? I’m not scared. I’m just—”

“Jack, what are you doing here?” Came the angry voice of Tooth from behind him. 

Covering his flinch with a shrug, Jack turned around to face her, “Oh you know, it’s been a whole day-and-a-half since we last saw each other. Thought I’d drop in and see how you’re doing. You sure you should be working your girls like this so quickly? Last I saw, they weren’t feeling so good,”

She stalled a minute, taking in his bloodstained face and new clothes before concealing her shock, folding her arms, and asking, “And whose fault would that be?” 

Before Jack could remind her that Pitch was the one who captured them and took their belief away, Baby Tooth flew around him and nuzzled against her mother’s cheek.

“Oh thank goodness! You’re all right. I was so worried,” Tooth said, cupping Baby Tooth in her hands, “He didn’t hurt you did he?” Jack wanted to object, to say that he’d never hurt precious Baby. Before he could, Tooth exclaimed, “What’s this? Jack! I can’t believe you! Freezing her wings like this!”

“I—what?” Confused, Jack hurried over to see what Tooth was talking about.

Sprouting on the tips of each of Baby Tooth’s wings were little ferns of frost. The design was sheer and light, still allowing for her wings’ quick movement, but it was encroaching upon and draining the color from the vibrant veins that composed her wings. Where the frost touched, her wings were turning a light shade of blue.

Jack stared in wonder. 

Finally, a nervous looking Baby Tooth spoke up, “ _What’s wrong? Is something wrong with me?_ ” 

Eyes wide, Jack scooped her up, “No. No. Nothing’s wrong. You’re perfect, absolutely perfect,”

“You can...understand her?” Tooth asked, and Jack was startled to discover their newfound proximity.

The winter spirit leapt back, balancing on the crook of his staff as he held Baby Tooth, “Of course I do. She’s _mine_ ,” He smiled fondly at the girl in his hands, “My little ice fairy. My little Baby Tooth, ever since you gave her up,”

“What?” Tooth protested vehemently, “No, I wouldn’t—I didn’t have a choice! You didn’t give me one!”

“Yes I did. There’s always a choice. You chose to abandon your little baby, Tooth,” Jack said, looking at the distraught Tooth Fairy through half-lidded eyes. Seconds ticked by, Tooth attempting to find something to say.

“Ow!” Jack yelped, instinctively dropping Baby Tooth after she stabbed him with her beak.

“ _Stop it! Stop being mean to Momma. She did the right thing!_ ” Baby exclaimed angrily, flying up to his face.

“Ouch, that hurt,” Jack said, staring at the bleeding puncture in his hand. He turned his attention to the fairy in his face. Slowly, he brought his hands up, encasing Baby Tooth in his palms, “You shouldn’t do that, Baby,”

“No! Please, don’t hurt her. She didn’t mean it. Don’t hurt her!” Tooth exclaimed, reaching toward them pleadingly.

Slipping Baby Tooth onto his shoulder, Jack looked at Tooth questioningly, “I wouldn’t hurt Baby. Why do you keep thinking that?” 

“I—” Tooth’s voice caught as she looked back and forth between the winter spirit and the fairy on his shoulder, “You won’t?”

“No. Don’t even joke about that,” Jack scowled, the new expression cracking the blood that had dried on his cheek, “Anyway, I was here to ask my favor,” He replied, switching back to his smile. 

“Already?” Tooth squeaked. 

“Oh? Would you rather I wait a century or two before I tell you what I want? Cause I can do that. I’m perfectly fine with leaving this place for a good long time and doing something fun while you ponder and fret and worry about what I could ask you and when I’ll decide to ask it. Heck, maybe I’ll visit occasionally. We could have tea. Learn a bit about each other. If you’d rather I did that...” Jack raised his hands and shrugged, turning around to fly off.

He could hear Tooth’s budding panic as she called out, “Wait. Okay, okay fine. What do you want, Jack?”

Smiling, Jack turned back around, “Oh good. So, you collect everybody’s memories, yeah?” Jack didn’t wait for a reply. “And you can give them to or take them away from people at will, correct?”

“Jack, if you’re asking me to mess with the whole world’s children’s memories, then I can’t do that,” Tooth pointed out stubbornly.

Jack raised a brow, “Even if it means going against your contract? Even if it means you and your partners will die?”

“We’re meant to protect children from anything that might hurt them. If that means we have to protect them from ourselves, then so-be-it. I won’t harm the children,”

Jack tilted his face back to look at the sky, sighing, “Wow. You guys and your morality,” He glanced down at Tooth, “How selfish,”

“Selfish?” She snorted, “How?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Jack replied, “ ‘You’ll die to protect others?’ that’s stupid. If you really wanted to protect someone, you’d do whatever it takes to stay alive. What you want isn’t the kids’ safety, but your own clean conscience,”

As Tooth’s eyes widened then narrowed in anger, the thought once again crossed Jack’s mind that he probably shouldn’t be angering people just before asking favors of them. Just when he thought she would unleash her entire hoard on him, Tooth closed her eyes and tooth a deep breath. Tooth’s eyes snapped open and suddenly a scimitar was flying at him. His instincts kicked in, cocking his head to the left just in time for the blade to pass harmlessly by, imbedding itself in the tower behind him.

Jack blinked once before leaping off his staff and bringing it close in defense, “Woah, hey what was that for?” And more importantly, _where had she pulled that from_?  

“I won’t let you insult my purpose, _Jack_.” She hissed, “So don’t try. What do you want?” 

“Fine, you’re no fun you know,” Sighing, Jack loosened the grip on his staff and began slowly circling around it, “You know what? If you won’t let me rule the world with everyone’s memories,” Which, really, sounded more bothersome than interesting anyway, “then I’ll have to go with plan B. I want,” Jack paused, unable to resist teasing Tooth just one more time. She grew visibly tenser with every passing second, until he finally finished with, “just my memories.”

Tooth’s wings stopped, and she opened her mouth yelling, “YOU THINK I—” before she stopped and realized what he said, “T-that’s it?”

Jack shrugged, “That’s it. You said you had them, didn’t you?”

“Y-yeah, I did,” Tooth said suspiciously, dismissing two of the mini-fairies hovering about her to go get them, “But... that’s really all you want?”

“I’ll ask for something else, if you really want me to,” Jack pointed out.

“N-no. Just, this isn’t some kind of trick, is it? Like with my fairies?”

Jack leaned on his staff, “Oh, you’re not still mad about the whole pretending-to-let-your-fairies-suffocate-and-die-in-giant-ice-cages thing, are you?”

“Yes,” She hissed seriously, “I am,”

At that moment, her fairies came back holding a cylindrical, golden tube and handing it to their mother. She observed it for a moment before reluctantly holding the object out to Jack, “Here. Your memories,”

Jack stepped up slowly before snatching the small container away and darting back a few good paces, “Wow. This is surprisingly fancy for a container of bones. He rotated the object until a brunette with matching eyes and a devious smirk was staring at him.

Jack cocked his head, “This is me? I’ve never had brown hair before,”

“It must have been from before you were a spirit,” Tooth crossed her arms and shrugged.

“Woah, wait. Hold up. Before I was—you mean I was somebody _before_ I was Jack Frost? I was—human? With a,” Jack waved a hand through the air as he searched for the word, “a family?” 

This was news to Jack. He had figured that the good old Man in the Moon had made him and then cast him aside when he realized Jack didn’t play as nicely as the rest of his toys.

“Jack,” Tooth replied slowly, “We were all somebody before we chose to become Spirits—”

“Chose?” Jack interrupted, cocking his head, “Manny gave you a choice? He gave me a name. That’s it,” Guess the Man in the Moon wasn’t feeling particularly charitable that night. Well, it was just one more reason not to like the giant orb in the sky, and another question in a sudden, quickly growing list.

“Manny gives everyone a choice—Jack, you don’t remember any of this? You’ve been alone all this time without knowing any of this?” Tooth unfolded her arms and stared at Jack with something dangerously close to pity in her eyes.

“Oh, no. You don’t get to look at me like that,” Jack snarled. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong,” Jack hopped onto his staff and glared down at the fairy who still held that mournful look. His mouth twisted into a grimace, “Stop staring at me like I’m some pitiful child!”

“Jack, when the Man in the Moon turns someone into a Spirit, it’s because they have a purpose, something they discover during their life, something they can fall back on when their life as a Spirit gets too difficult. Without that...You must have been so lost. You—”

“Shut up!”

“No, listen, Jack,” Tooth slowly flew closer, and Jack tensed, “You must have been lonely without even memories to fall back on, and I’m sorry we didn’t notice before I’m sorr—”

“I said, shut up!” Jack shouted, a wave of hoarfrost erupting from his body. The area around him went unnaturally silent, “Did you already forget that I nearly killed everyone here?” He whispered out, “Don’t you realize that your friends are my playthings to do whatever I want with? I’m not some lonely kid seeking attention. You don’t. Get. To. Pity me,” 

For many tense seconds Jack and Tooth merely stared each other down. Several emotions flashed over the Tooth Fairy’s face—shock, hurt, anger—yet, still _, pity_ shone through.  

With an angry huff Jack looked down at the cylinder in his hand, “Whatever. How do you make this thing work?”

“You just,” Tooth sighed, resigned, “just touch the flat part with your fingers,”

He raised an eyebrow, testing out her claim, “It can’t really be that sim—”

Jack didn’t even get to finish his sentence when a white light overtook his vision and he was suddenly flung into his memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so the last chapter I said we were getting into Jack's memories this chapter. I lied. Sorry. I always forget that this chapter exists when calculating which chapter is what. Also, My updates were slow already, but as I have recently found myself a much needed job, updates may or may not get slower. If they do, I'm sorry. 
> 
> Also, Jack. You have no right-- _absolutely no right_ \--to call others selfish for any reason what-so-ever. You know, the thing is, I don't think Jack even realizes he's ridiculously selfish. For all that he thinks he knows himself well, he's incredibly self-unaware...
> 
> Next Chapter: We really do get into Jack's memories. Young Jack is so adorable and serious and...slightly....off........Also his mom and sister makes their first appearance...
> 
> As always, if you see something wrong (or something incredibly right) don't be shy and leave a comment telling me. 
> 
> See ya  
> ~Saka Out


	7. Into Memories She Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With her new discovery, Tooth hopes that maybe something can be done about Jack--that maybe he can change. To enforce this hope, she delves into his memories.
> 
> That maybe wasn't her best idea.

Tooth watched as Jack touched the teeth and fell limply off his staff to the ground, unconscious. Alarmed, the baby tooth on Jack’s shoulder flew up to her mother. Tooth held out a finger for her fairy to perch on while she stared at the boy splayed out on the ground. She wanted to hate him—she did hate him—but without any contemptible sneers on his face or threats on his tongue, Jack looked little more than a child, a boy on the cusp of adulthood. Between that and the new information about his memories, she couldn’t help but wonder. Was Jack truly as evil as he seemed, or were his drastic actions just those of a lonely boy seeking attention?

Tooth has been around for a long time; she knew just how far people would go to be acknowledged. She’d seen what happened to those consumed by loneliness. She herself experienced just what lengths people would go to when they got desperate.

Had Jack been driven insane by his isolation? 

Of course, none of this excused him of what he’d done, but maybe she and the Guardians could fix this. Maybe they could set Jack on the right path again. Maybe he would find in his memories the reason the Tsar Lunar chose him to become a spirit, and maybe he’d repent for what he’d done.

It would be rough. Before Jack could change, he’d have to mourn everything he’d done. He’d have to realize the number of people he’s undoubtedly killed, the amount of souls he’s tormented. A realization like that could scar a person for life, if it didn’t kill him first, but if he could get past that, he could become the Spirit he was meant to be. He could reform himself and start helping humans instead of hurting them.  

Before all that, though, he’d have to wake up.

Jack came back to the present with a gasp and wide eyes. Tooth watched in trepidation as he shakily stood up, grabbing his staff as he rose. As he stared at Tooth, the look in his eyes shifted from shock to wonder.

“I had—a family! A sister! Jill!” He gasped out a little laugh. 

He did a backflip and flew over to Tooth, latching onto her shoulders and spinning them both in a circle. 

“I saved her! I saved...” He trailed off, realization and horror dawning on his face as he slowly backed away, “What have I done?” He choked out, “I-I how could I?”

The golden, cylindrical container slipped from shaking fingers and Jack stumbled back, clumsily taking to the air and flying off quickly. With a distressed cry, the mini-tooth on her shoulder flew off after the boy.

Tooth blinked, trying to catch up with what had just happened. When she finally registered it all, she wasn’t sure what to do. It was, frankly, the reaction she’d been hoping for, but if the weight of his actions hit him too strongly, the boy might break even more than he already had. Someone needed to be there to give him something solid to lean on. 

Resolved, Tooth took a step forward, about to fly after the two who left when her toe tapped something. Jack’s memories. Curiosity overwhelmed her. What had Jack seen that affected him so? What was he like before he became what he was now? He said he’d saved his sister. From what? Tooth pursed her lips as she looked at the container at her feet. She knew she shouldn’t, that it was an invasion of privacy—

—but then, it wasn’t like she owed Jack any respect, really. And maybe if she had in depth experience with what he was like before, she’d be better able to help him. It would only take a few seconds to see and then she could be after Jack and no one would be the wiser.

She quickly scooped up the object, activating the memories before she could talk herself out of it. A bright light overtook her vision and she was thrust into the life of Jackson Overland. 

* * *

 

It was a small, nameless village consisting of only thirty-two people, although a new family or two seemed to set up home here ever year. The soil was fertile and the water of the nearby lake was crystal clear. As in all small communities, everyone existed as a member of one extended family, assisting their friends when they could and supporting them when they couldn’t. Yet because of this small, familial environment, it was almost as hard to keep a secret from one’s neighbor as it was to keep from God.

Because of this, everyone knew of young Thomas Overland and Mary White’s courtship, and they realized Mary was pregnant almost before she did. The village supported it, of course. The Shepherd and the seamstress’s second daughter had always gotten on well, and it was only a matter of time before the two got hitched.

Mary’s pregnancy was pleasantly mild, and she gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. She and her husband named him Jackson after Thomas’s late father—God rest his soul. Jackson was a quiet infant. He rarely cried; he was walking by nine months and could speak near fluently by the time he was two, though he rarely said anything.

Instead, the toddler chose to tag alongside his father whenever Thomas went out to tend to the goats or the farm. Sometimes the boy would simply sit in the center of the town square and observe the people around him. Months and then years went by in this manner, and the villagers began to grow suspicious. What was this child that he didn’t play-fight or roll in the muck as others his age did? And what possessed the boy to keep his tongue so securely? Surely it wasn’t natural? And those eyes! As if they’re peering into you’re very soul! Surely he is not mere mortal? A changeling perhaps? Or worse—a demon...

Amidst the forming rumors, the town’s beloved pastor, Jonah, came up to six-year-old Jackson, sitting next to him on the bench the boy liked to park himself on and offering to teach the boy to read the Word of God. The boy didn’t respond at first, didn’t even acknowledge the man’s presence, and the pastor almost gave up.

But then the child turned to him and gave a beautiful, blinding smile as he eagerly took up the offer.

From that point on, Jackson suddenly changed. No longer was he merely a bystander. He actively participated in whatever chore he could. He washed the baker’s flour-covered floors. He wiped clean the soot-covered tools littering the blacksmith's work area. The boy talked and smiled freely, and he quickly wormed his way into the villagers’ hearts. Soon, Jackson-the-Demon-Spawn was forgotten entirely and replaced with Jackson-the-Angel.

He was an adept learner as well. Jackson very quickly went from scrubbing the baker’s floor to kneading the baker’s bread. He entered an unofficial apprenticeship with the blacksmith. Animals listened to Jack, and many herders in the town asked him to join in on watching the livestock. 

The boy’s biggest talent, though, was with words.

Not the written word, of course. Jackson couldn’t seem to grasp reading or writing, and the pastor gave up after the eight year old admitted that sometimes he felt like some letters were backwards and words were twisted. No, instead the boy was eloquent far beyond what anyone his age should have been. A veritable raconteur, the child could spin a beautiful or tragic fantasy out of thin air on command, and even though he never grasped reading, little Jackson went to Jonah whenever he could to learn new words and enlarge his vocabulary.

Still, the boy never played with those his age, but adults only distantly worried about this. Surely it wasn’t Jackson’s fault, the little angel. The other children must have been ostracizing the boy because he was unique among them. As they grew older, the villagers were sure, they’d warm up to Jackson. 

This pattern went on undisturbed until the birth of one little girl a decade after Jackson came into the world.

Ten-year-old Jackson stood outside his house, kicked out by the midwife when Mary, his mother, had started moaning in pain earlier that day.  It wasn’t entirely unexpected. She’d been with child for the better part of a year, and recently everyone around Jackson had been on edge. So when Mary had suddenly doubled over and commanded through pained gasps that Thomas, her husband, get the midwife, Jack wasn’t overly shocked. He hadn’t expected her to be in so much pain though. Supposedly, the same thing had happened when Jackson had been born.

A pained shout echoed from inside.

Jackson had to press his lips together to keep from smiling.

It sent an unholy glee through the child to know that he could do this to Mary before he’d even been born. She deserved it, really. After everything. It was about time.

Another scream rang out, and Thomas grabbed onto Jack, pulling him close and murmuring, “Everything will be fine, Jackson. Don’t you worry,”

He wanted to reply that he wan’t worried, but he figured that wouldn’t go over well. So, instead, Jackson latched onto Thomas’s coat and buried his face into the man’s side, finally allowing himself a smile as the third cry filled the air. Thomas kept muttering pointless assurances that all would be well as he swiped a shaky hand through Jackson’s hair.

He wasn’t sure how long this went on until everything went quiet and the midwife’s assistant slowly opened the door to invite the two males in. She was smiling, so Jackson figured everything went well after all. Life was full of disappointments. 

Or it was until little Jackson walked into the room and saw his baby sister for the first time.

She was a wailing little thing, swaddled in plain cloth and held delicately in the midwife’s young assistant's arms. As Jackson stepped closer, he could see little tufts of brown hair matted down on the babe’s forehead. Her eyes were scrunched tightly as her wide open mouth bellowed out meaningless cries. Jackson couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Do you want to hold her?” The assistant whispered conspiratorially, and Jackson nodded, pursing his lips in anticipation. She was a girl. He had a _little sister_. He held his arms out in a circle before him, just as if he were holding a little lamb, and the young woman slipped the baby into his arms.

“Make sure to get her head,” The assistant instructed, slightly adjusting the young boy’s arms to fit the babe’s form better, “Wouldn’t want her to lose it, would we?”

Little Jackson immediately tightened his hold, “No, we don’t,”

“A girl,” He heard Thomas say behind him, “What shall we name her?” He asked his wife while Jackson rocked the infant per the assistant’s instructions.

“I haven’t even seen her yet,” He heard Mary exhaustedly point out.

“Give her here,” The midwife commanded Jackson, “Her mother went through Hell itself to bring this girl to the world, she deserves to hold her,”

Jackson considered saying no. He’d only just got her, and Mary didn’t deserve anything so precious as this child, but adults never listened to him. All it would do was get him in trouble, and the woman didn’t seem to be in a mood today, so Jackson supposed it was safe enough. Grudgingly, he handed the infant to the midwife, who then promptly placed the girl in Mary’s arms. She stared silently at the infant, lost in thought.

“Has my heart found a name for our child in the babe’s eyes?” Thomas asked after a few silent minutes.

“Her name is Jill,” Jackson answered from his spot beside the bed.

“Jillian seems like a fine name,” Thomas replied in an indulgent tone that infuriated Jackson, “What do you think, Love?”

Mary stared at the babe in her arms silently, a contemplating look on her face.

Finally, Jackson restated, “Her name is Jill,”

His mother eventually gave a little nod, and, with a laugh, Thomas ruffled Jackson’s hair, “All right, All right, She’ll be little Jillian Overland until her end days.”

Jackson huffed. As if they had a choice in the matter. His sister’s name was Jill, and that was final. 

The family settled into a routine. Thomas spent the day tilling the ground and preparing for the quickly arriving Spring, touting Jackson alongside and teaching him the finer point of farming. When Jackson wasn’t forced to learn how to plant seeds and care for the Overland goats, he was always found by his sister’s side. She grew a little everyday. Tufts of brown hair slowly grew thicker on her head and her baby-grey eyes slowly morphed into the typical Overland brown. Even as she grew, Jackson was constantly amazed by how helpless she was. The babe couldn’t speak or walk. She had no sense of self-preservation and no way to protect herself from any threats outside their home.

Or inside for that matter.

Every passing day, Mary withdrew into herself a little more. Soon, Jackson found himself comforting Jill when she whined in hunger, or needed a change, or when she woke up crying in the night because Mary refused to so much as look at her. Jackson kept a close eye on the woman whenever he could. She seemed to be sinking into one of her moods, and Jackson couldn’t do anything except wait and be prepared for whatever would happen.

It was about a month after Jill’s birth that Jackson’s waiting came to an end. It was the middle of the night, the moon high in the sky. He glared tiredly at the offending orb before turning over and trying to fall back asleep. Honestly he wasn’t sure why he’d woken up in the first place. Jackson was a light sleeper, but he usually had no problems sleeping through the night if no one disturbed him. Although, he hadn’t gotten a good night of sleep ever since Jill was born. She seemed determined to wake the entire house up at ungodly hours everyday. Jackson wouldn’t be surprised if she started crying right now—it was about the time she usually decided she was hungry.

In fact, it was strange that she was being so quiet.

Too quiet.

Eyes shooting open, Jackson shot out his bed and scrambled to the house’s main bedroom. Thomas was lying on the bed—dead to the world for the night—but Mary and Jill were both absent.

Not wasting the time to alert Thomas to the alarming development, Jackson scanned their house cursorily before rushing outside. The village was completely silent and devoid of any activity, but in the dim light of the moon, Jackson thought he caught a glimpse of Mary’s nightgown flashing between the trees of the nearby forest. She was heading toward the lake!

Without hesitation, Jackson took after her, hoping he could make it in time. It was cold. Spring was close by, but winter still reigned and Jackson could feel his bare feet quickly going numb as he tumbled over bushes and under low-hanging branches. Jackson broke into the lake’s clearing just in time to see Mary ankle-deep in the water and quickly wading deeper, a crying Jill confined in her arms.

“Stop!” he shouted desperately as he charged forward and latched onto her arm, trying to pull her back.

Mary shook him off before looking at him as if noticing him for the first time. Her eyes had a far-away look as she addressed her son, “Oh Jackson, you’ve come to help me. Good. Come join your mother,”

She held out a hand expectantly while Jackson stared at her incredulously. He shook his head and reached out for Jill instead, “Why don’t you give her to me and we can go home instead?” She seemed calm. Jackson hoped he could solve this without further incident.

Mary drew her eyebrows together, as if confused that he would reject her, “No Jackson. Don’t you understand? I have to do this. It is divine command,”

“N-no you don’t,” Jackson stuttered out, horror settling in his stomach as he recognized the old pattern. Yes, Mary appeared calm, but this was a false serenity, like thin ice, ready to shatter at the slightest pressure, “Can’t we just go home? Thomas is waiting,”

“My husband,” Mary whispered, and for a minute the dazed look in her eyes faded.

Jackson latched on to that thread, “Yeah, yeah. Thomas. He, uh wants to see you—right now. So...why don’t you hand Jill to me and go to him?”

He knew immediately reminding her of Jill was the wrong move. Her attention refocussed on the baby; Mary’s eyes clouded over again.

“He’ll understand. I have to,” She mumbled to herself before clutching the wailing babe closer and taking another step to the lake.

“No!” Jackson yelled, his tentative facade of calm shattering, “Give her back! She’s mine. You can’t have her!” Tugging hard on Mary’s dress, he tried to grab Jill, but the woman simply raised the baby out of his reach.

“Why are you trying to stop me? Don’t you understand? I have to do this. It’s a test of faith. This baby is evil, Jackson. A crime against God,”

“I don’t care! Give her to me,” Jackson jumped up and made to grab Jill, but Mary pulled away. Both were starting to get increasingly frantic in the chill night.

“Jackson! Listen to me, Son!” Mary shouted in frustration.

“No, you are completely insane!” In their struggle the two found themselves farther from the edge of the lake. Jackson was soaked from the chest down and Mary from her midriff. The blanket covering Jill—coming loose due to the fighting—teased the tip of the water. The boy’s whole body felt like it was on pins and needles from the cold, and he didn’t even register what he was saying anymore as he fought against Mary for the girl. He had to get his sister now, or she’d be gone forever, “You’re the evil one. You’re the witch who’s trying to drown my sister, and you don’t deserve to be her mother. Give her back!”

“Jack!” Mary shouted in fury before raising her hand and slapping him. The force of the strike caused Jackson to slip on the wet pebbles and plunge under the lake’s surface. For a second, he couldn’t move, frozen by the shock and cold, but the next he was back above water, dripping wet and shivering in the frigid air.

“Jack? Jack are you okay?” Mary asked. Her demeanor completely transformed during his dunk in the lake. Suddenly she held the look of a child caught with one hand in the treats jar. Mary trudged through the lake to reach him, “Oh my baby boy—what have I done?” She ran a shaky hand through his hair and touched his bruising cheek, “You’re freezing cold, child. Please forgive me. I’m sorry, sorry. Come, we must get you by the fire or you’ll die of cold—”

“Give her to me,” Jackson cut in, voice devoid of emotion, “Let go of my sister,” 

“I—”

“Now,” Jackson held out his hands as he glared up at Mary. 

Wide-eyed, she silently handed the child over. He immediately fixed the blankets so the babe would be protected from the cold and began rocking Jill until she quieted down. Without another word, the boy made his way back to the edge of the lake, Mary following timidly after him.

When he reached dry land, Jackson turned to face her and commanded, “Stay,”

“What?” She asked, her eyes widening in child-like confusion, “But Jack, the cold—”

“You want to be forgiven?” Jackson explained calmly, “Then stay here, okay?” and Mary, weak and malleable as her mind was, listened.

He turned back around and began walking home. Behind him he heard a splash in the water and Mary called out, “Please, my son, forgive me. Forgive me,”

Jackson glanced over his shoulder to see Mary kneeling in the lake, staring at him with large eyes and grasping the cross she bore around her neck. It was strange. Until a moment ago, Jackson had been furious at Mary, but now he didn’t feel anything except calm. The woman before him, staring up at him pitifully, wasn’t worth his emotion.

His sister stirred and he turned his attention to the infant as he walked away, “Shh, it’s okay. We’ll go home and get you warmed up, and I think we still have some milk for you,” The baby hiccuped and reached for Jack’s finger when he brought a hand before her face, “Yeah, I bet you’re hungry aren’t you?”

Behind him, the woman whimpered, but he payed it no mind. Nobody cared to listen to the qualms of the dead, after all.

The next day, Jackson was woken at dawn by the panicked shouting of a village girl. Her pounding on the front door woke the baby, and with a groan Jackson started his day.

Eyes burning from lack of sleep—after he’d gotten home last night, he changed both himself and Jill into their spare set of clothes and fed the baby before putting her to bed and finally getting back to sleep himself—the boy pulled himself up and reached for the crying infant. Thomas, also woken by the noise, scrambled to the door to see what emergency was transpiring. 

As Jill calmed down, Jackson walked toward the door and listened in on the conversation. The girl—the midwife’s assistant Jackson realized—stuttered out in a panicked voice, “S-sir, there’s something...I was at the lake and—we needed water to clean the tools you know. That’s why I was there. B-but that’s not important, while I was there I saw. Oh dear, mister i-it’s horrible. I can’t believe it I just—”

“Lisabella,” Thomas interrupted, “Calm down, girl. What’s at the lake?”

“The w-wife, mister. Been there all night, if the boss’s right,” Before she was even done whispering the phrase, Thomas was out the door and sprinting towards the woods.

Still not entirely awake, Jackson stared after his retreating father. They found Mary already. Jackson supposed it was inevitable; that lake supplied the village’s water after all.

“Oh dear. This is horrible,” The assistant murmured, and Jackson turned his attention to her.

She was a tiny slip of a girl, probably only two or three years older than Jack, and with her slight build and short stature she was probably lighter than he was. Auburn hair was tied up into a loose bun, and a few stray strands stubbornly covered the girl’s left eye as she chewed her lip in anxiety. 

She and her “boss” had moved into town a a little less than a year ago, much to the chagrin of the villagers. Within a fortnight, the entire village suspected the midwife of witchcraft and was raring to drive her and her apprentice out, but by fate or luck, the town’s chief’s son had fallen gravely ill and the newcomers had taken it upon themselves to fix the poor boy up. When he was well again, the chief was grateful enough to allow them a place to stay in the town, and the village had prospered ever since.

“Hey, what’s your name again?” Jackson asked, startling the assistant out of her troubled thoughts.

“Hmm? Oh, name’s Lisabella, but every body calls me Lisa,” She smiled at him amusedly, “I told you that when she was born,” Lisa gestured to Jill, “And when we met. You don’t remember Jackie-boy?”

Jackson resisted wincing at the nickname. He didn’t like when people altered his name to their liking. He didn’t even really like being called Jack, but that was mostly because “Jack” was Mary’s favorite way to call him.

“Sorry,” Jackson replied, “I guess I’m a little distracted. Is Mary dead?”

“Oh, oh Jackie-boy no. Your Ma’s still breathing. She’s in the Deep Sleep, but so long as she’s-a-breathing, you can bet the Boss and I will get her going again,”

Jackson resisted clicking his tongue in annoyance. So she survived, huh? “She always was stubborn,” He muttered with a yawn.

“Jackie-boy?” Lisa asked uncertainly. When he turned to her, she paused and took in his countenance, “What happened to _you_?”

“What? Oh,” Jackson winced as he carefully felt out the bruise under his eye, “One of the Billies got startled yesterday, and I took a pretty hard hit before I could calm it down,” He shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal,” 

“But if Mary is still alive,” Jackson said, quickly changing the subject as he slowly walked toward the lake, “I want to go see her,”

Indeed, Mary had survived the ordeal, but it had left her with a raging fever. She was comatose, but in her sleep Mary mumbled apologies constantly, and this was a mystery to the villagers. What grievance had she that could have driven her to this? After a week, Thomas Overland had admitted that his wife, in the weeks before the accident, seemed to be sinking more and more into the black throes of depression. The village’s midwife, Henna, agreed, stating that she’d seen her fair share of mothers who temporarily lost their grip on sanity after birthing a child.

While mourning the mother, everyone admired the son who, despite the tragedy, continued to stay strong for his family. When his father found he couldn’t continue his day’s work for the sudden loneliness, Jackson took the mantle and finished herding the goats or planting the seeds. He patched up the clothes, cooked dinners—both things his mother should have been doing—and kept the house in shape. At night, when he by all rights should have been exhaustedly sleeping, Jackson took up vigil by his mother’s bedside.

But more than anything, Jackson seemed to put his very soul into raising his little sister. These days, nobody spotted him without Jill in his arms or—as she got older—trailing behind him like a little duckling. 

It was no surprise to anyone that her first word was her brother’s name, “J-Jak. Jak,” 

As time passed, the Overland boy became more reclusive. No longer did he go to Jonas for new words, or the smithy to learn the trade, or the bakery for the bread unless it was completely necessary. Many were saddened by this turn of events, but it was understandable, they thought. They didn’t worry when they caught him gazing piercingly at them. Nobody thought of the demon-child they’d supposed Jackson to be less than a decade before. No, instead they thought those were the eyes of a desperate and lonely child trying to put up a tough front.

Surely this was tragedy at play, the villagers whispered. The poor boy. The poor boy, they all thought. If only his precious mother, they repeated again and again, would wake up.

So, of course, the news spread like wildfire when, two-and-a-half years after they pulled her from the lake, Mary Overland did just that.

Jackson yawned. It was late, or perhaps early, and he was sure he hadn’t gotten enough sleep in a long time, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave his mother’s side—not when it was possible for her to wake up and steal away with Jill again. Even after two years, his baby sister was still so fragile. Only the other day, he caught her just as she was about to eat some poison-berries. She’d pitched a fit when he took them away, not understanding when he explained that they were called _poison_ -berries for a reason.

He stifled a small grin. Of course, her reaction was funny now—her puffed-out cheeks had turned bright red as she stomped her feet on the ground and cried to give them back—but at the time Jackson had been shaken and stressed. Ever since the girl turned two, she seemed intent on doing everything possible to get herself killed. Was everyone that age like that? Jackson didn’t think he’d acted that way, but then it wasn’t as if he remembered much from when he was that young. 

He turned his attention to Mary. Perhaps it was something that ran in the family. Mary, after all, acted like that all the time: one minute perfectly fine, the next throwing a torrential tantrum. His mother’s tantrums tended to be more violent than Jill’s though. Jackson subconsciously reached up to touch the small array of scars hidden under his vest. 

No, Jill wasn’t anything like Mary.

Jack’s hand slowly transferred to the hilt of the knife he kept tucked into his belt. For the millionth time since they dragged the sodden woman out of the lake, Jackson considered plunging the blade into her and ending all this trouble. 

But no, he’d spent too long cultivating the village’s opinion of him to ruin it all by blatantly murdering someone like Mary in a silly vendetta. If he was going to take out Mary, he’d have to make it look like an accident—or like someone else did it. He’d been observing the others, looking for someone to take the blame. In a town so small, it was hard not to have relations to everybody, and where there was history, there was friction. Even if the entire village was too stupid to realize how unstable Mary had always been, there was certainly many others reasons someone might hold a grudge against her.

And then there was that girl, Lisabella.

It seemed as if wherever Jackson went, the girl was there, watching him. She was obviously trying not to let him notice. She always disguised her observations with some silly chore: buying herbs from the bakery, crocheting, talking to someone nearby. Yet she always kept an eye trained on him. Had she, somehow, caught wind of his intentions? How though, and when? Regardless, he’d have to confront her before he did anythi—

An earsplitting scream erupted from the prone woman before him, and Jackson was out of his chair, his dagger poised to strike before he even realized what was happening. Side-eyeing the blade, Jackson sheathed his weapon just as Thomas barreled into the room rushing to his thrashing wife’s aid.

“No! Stay away from me!” Mary cried out, “Get away get away getawaygetawaygetaway! Don’t touch them, Shade!”

“G-go get Henna,” Thomas commanded over his wife’s incoherent shouting.

“Right,” Jackson stated as he turned to leave. Had something happened at the lake after he left, or was this just another one of Mary’s episodes?

Just as he reached the front door, he heard a sleepy voice murmur, “Jack Jack?”

Jackson turned around and crouched to his little sister’s level, “Jill, what are you doing up?”

“Loud,” She looked at Jackson with wide eyes, “somethin’ bad happnen?”

“No. No, you should go back to be—” Jackson looked toward Mary’s room and then back at his sister, “You know what? We’re going to go on an adventure. Would you like that?”

“Venture!” Jill squealed happily.

“That’s right. Let’s go,” Jackson said, standing up and grabbing his sister’s hand as he left the house and moaning Mary behind for the moment. As he walked down the path to the healer’s house, the village began waking up. Lanterns lighting up and curious faces peaking out of their doorways at the screeching sound originating from the Overland house. Jackson paid them no mind, instead smiling down at his little sister when she gripped the hem of his shirt a little tighter. She didn’t like the dark, and whenever she asker her why, she told him some tale of the monster hiding under her bed. It was superstitious nonsense, but it kept her from running away into the night, so Jackson never refuted her.

“Everything is fine, Jill. I’ll protect you,” He said, running one hand through her hair. 

She looked up at him with large eyes, terrified but willing so willing to hope and trust, “Really?” She asked.

“Of course,” He replied without hesitation, “I’d never lie—not to you,”

After a moment, she nodded her acceptance, standing up a little straighter with her newfound defiant confidence. Jackson nodded, proud of his little toddler, and then they all-too-quickly arrived at their destination. He reluctantly knocked on the door.

The door cracked open, revealing a nightgown-clad Lisabella, “Jackie-boy?” she asked in a sleepy but curious tone, “And Jay-bird! What are you two doing here this time of night?”

“Venture!” Jill repeated.

“Yes, we’re on an adventure,” Jackson explained with a grin; Lisa just shook her head, her eyebrows scrunched together. Jack’s grin grew, “You see, my sister and I have travelled far and wide to find a couple of valiant knights to slay a beast and save a damsel in distress. Will you, fair madam, partake in this quest?”

“I—” Lisa’s voice hitched in confusion.

“What’s all the ruckus? Close the door, girl. A draft’s kicking in,” The matronly voice of Henna rang out.

“Boss, Jackie-boy’s here and he’s speaking in riddles,”

“It’s no time for a boy to be talking to a girl. Send him away until a more Godly hour,”

In the silence following Henna’s command, Lisa shrugged, “You heard the Boss, Jackie-boy. Come back tomorrow,”

As she started to close the door, Jackson sighed and hurriedly informed, “Mary’s woken up and flailing about and I suppose Thomas is worried that she might hurt herself if you can’t calm her down quickly,”

Henna suddenly appeared in the doorway, “Well, why didn’t you say that sooner, boy? Come we have no time to lose!” Swiping up Jill, Henna took off for the house. Jackson’s hand raised in objection, but he grit his teeth and lowered it as he glared at the woman who nabbed his sister. 

“Something wrong, Jackie-boy?”

“No,” Jack grit out before forcefully unlocking his jaw and turning to face Lisa, “No. Why would anything be wrong? Mary’s finally woken up, after all,”

Lisa looked concerned as she searched his face for a moment before pursing her lips and letting it go. 

As the two began walking after her quickly retreating mother, Lisa spoke up and asked, “Why do you call your ma that? Mr. Overland too, I noticed,”

“Why do you call me ‘Jackie-boy’?” Jackson immediately countered.

“Wha-I. I just—” Lisa flailed before explaining in an exaggerated way, “Well, you’re just _so_ much _younger_ than me that Jackie- _boy_ seemed appropriate,”

“I’m not that much younger than you,” Jackson pointed out.

“N-no course not, Jackie-boy,” She agreed hurriedly, “I mean, you’re so mature and you know so many words and sometimes you seem like an adult and I just—” The girl cut herself off by covering her own mouth and began running to catch up to her boss. Jackson stared after her, confused. He’d never understand girls.

By the time he reached his home, the doctor and her assistant were already inside, presumably helping Mary. Jackson stopped at the sight of his sister waiting for him at the door step; she ran up to him, and he crouched down when she spoke.

“Venture?” Jill asked, and Jack stood up, guiding her into the house.

“Adventure over. It’s time to go to sleep,”

Jill yawned, “Don’t wanna,”

Jackson chuckled as he led her to bed. She fussed but quickly quieted down once he tucked her in, “Yes you do. Good night sister,”

“Night Jack Jack,” She mumbled, already half asleep. He stayed by her side, brushing her hair out of her face until her breathing evened out and he was sure she was sleeping.

Then Jackson crossed his house to the room that held Mary. She seemed to have calmed down. Thomas sat by the bed holding her hand while Henna checked the woman’s vitals.

“Is she doing any better?” Jackson asked as he walked in.

Lisa jumped and spared him a lighthearted glare before returning to her work and running a wet rag across Mary’s face. 

“She’ll be fine, physically, given time” Henna replied gruffly, “But I fear for her mind,”

Jack hummed in thought as he inched up to Thomas’s side, and stared down at Mary. Her eyes were half shut and unfocussed, and her lips moved, but no words came out.

Thomas turned to face him, “Don’t you worry, son. She’ll be fine. You’ll see,” He then swiveled to face Henna and the apprentice, “Isn’t that right?”

“Yeah, I’m sure the Mrs. will be fine,” Lisa replied quickly, “We’ll have her up and-a-going in no time at all,”

Jackson reached down and placed his hand atop Thomas and Mary’s inter-clasped ones, “Please do your best. I’d give anything for Mary to be well again,”

“Jack?” Mary suddenly rasped out, dull eyes staring intently at her child.

The boy blinked once before pasting on a relieved smile, “You’re awake,”

Her hand slipped out of her husband’s and latched weakly onto Jackson’s wrist, “Oh, Jack Jack Jack. I waited for you. I—Oh sweetie, he said he was coming for you,” She suddenly spit out, catching everyone off guard, “He said he wanted you, but don’t worry dear. Don’t worry, I won’t let him have you,”

Jackson decided to indulge in his mother’s mad fantasy and asked, “Who wants me?”

“He’s after you, but I’ll protect you. I’ll not let him take you,” Mary’s grip started to get tighter, “Don’t go away. Please don’t leave. Precious boy. Oh what have I done? He’s going to take you away from me!”

“Who is, Mary?” Jackson asked, annoyance creeping into his tone. 

“ _The Dark One_ ,” She hissed her nails digging into his skin as Jackson tried to pull away, “He came to me while I was at the lake, and said he’d have you. But I said ‘No!’ I wouldn’t let him take you. And he was angry, but I won’t let him. You’re my precious son. I’ll protect you. So please don’t leavepleasedon’tleaveJackI’llbegoodIpromiseand

Iwon’tlethimtakeyouawayI’msorryI’msorryI’m sorryI’msorryI’msorry,” 

At this point, Jackson made his escape attempt more obvious and the others in the room were trying to calm Mary down, but she wouldn’t hear of it, “NODON’TLEAVEMEPLEASEDON’TLEAVEILOVE YOUI’MSORRYIWON’TLETHIMHAVEYOUJACKJACK JACKPRECIOUSSONIFYOULEAVEI’LLDIEPLEASEIWON’T LETHIMTAKEYOUAWAYI’LLPROTECTYOUI’LLKEEPYOUSAFEANDCLOSE FOREVERANDEVERPRECIOUSBOYPRECIOUSSON—”

“LET ME GO!” Jackson yelled desperately and immediately he was released, Mary staring at him as if he were some alien creature. Jackson stumbled back into the wall, breathing hard and holding onto his wrist, already bruising from the tight grip and bleeding where Mary’s nails had dug into skin.

“In God’s name. What’s possessed my wife?” Thomas muttered while holding his wife down as her body began to surge and convulse.

“Don’t get your knickers twisted. This is no demon. She just exerted too much effort too quickly,” Henna bluntly shot back as she made sure Mary didn’t choke on her own tongue. Jackson wished she would, “Quick girly, soak that rag in the lavender mix. We need to calm her down,”

Lisa, who’d been staring at Jack with wide, worried eyes, startled and exclaimed, “Yes, Boss,”

At this point, Jackson slipped out of Mary’s room and into his and Jill’s room. He didn’t want to deal with Mary’s insanity right now. He didn’t want to figure out why Lisa seemed so intent on him. He was tired of playing this charade with everybody. He was so tired…

There was so much blood. It pooled around him and under him like a small lake. He was drowning in it, but he didn’t mind. It was warm, new, exciting. The small—way too small for all this blood—creature before him whimpered in pain, but the cry fell on deaf ears. The blade came down, twisted, scraped, pulled, cut—severed, dismembered. Slashed, stabbed, stabbed, stabbed.

Still, the little being drew in ragged, tear-laced breaths. Little nippy mewls sounded upon every haggard exhale.

He smiled and placed a single finger over the creature’s lips, “Shh everything will be fine,”

The blade slowly pressed down, severing one precious foot one section at a time—muscle, then tendon, then bone, and out the other side.

It stopped whimpering.

It almost stopped bleeding.

The blade, glinting red, rose once again.

The being, darling little soul, tried to raise an arm, “H-hurts...Jack Jack. St...o...p,”

Beautiful brown eyes stared up at him, and he allowed himself a small pause as he gazed into them, thinking, _I love you—_

_Jill_

Jackson jackknifed right out of his bed to the floor. Not bothering to get up, he lay where he landed and stared at the ceiling with wide eyes. It was dark, still night. His dream hadn’t even lasted the entire night.

Just a dream? More like nightmare.

Or a memory.

Panicking, Jackson quickly stood up and whipped the comforter off the bed, but his little sister was sleeping soundly. She was still in one piece. She curled into a ball from the sudden exposure to the autumn chill, and a relieved Jackson tucked her back in. His sister appeased, Jackson sat on the edge of the bed and rested his head against the wall. He hadn’t killed his sister, but still—

—a memory.

Jackson gave over to whimsy and suddenly exited the house, parking himself in front of a small boulder just to the left of the front door. It was a smooth rock, shaped in an uneven arch and about as tall as Jill. No writing marked the stone, but the stone obviously marked a grave. 

Jackson allowed himself a wry smile while brushing his fingers against the top of the stone almost as if petting it.

A weight settled on his shoulders, and Jackson flinched before he realized it was just a blanket. Eyebrows scrunched together, he turned his gaze to Lisa, frozen in the act of putting it on him. 

She gave a little smile before settling in beside him, “I know it’s only early Autumn, but you’ll catch cold if you stay out here all night dressed like that, Jackie-boy, and I’ll never hear the end of it if Boss has to take care of your ma _and_ you,”

“I see,” Jackson faced the gravestone again, “It’s kind of late for you to be here, isn’t it?”

“Boss and I decided to stay and keep watch over the Mrs. tonight. Just in case she—”

“Just in case she panics again?” Jackson finished, rubbing his still sore wrist.

“Are you hurt?” Lisa asked, “Oh I didn’t even think about that. I’ll go get some poultice and fix you up in a jiffy,”

“No, don’t bother. It’s not bad,” Jackson hurriedly said before she could move.

She hesitantly settled back down, “If you say so,”

“I do,”

“Okay,”

Jackson took the ensuing silence to glance at Lisa from the side of his eye. He’d never before had a conversation with someone around his own age before. He’d never needed to. It wouldn’t benefit him in any way to get in the _children’s_ good graces. Adults were the ones who decided if somebody was evil or heinous or ludicrous. Nobody ever listened to kids. So he stayed away from them, and they, in turn, stayed away from him.

Yet here was Lisa, once again, intruding on his life.

Why?

“Why?” Lisa asked, and for a moment, Jackson was scared he’d been thinking out loud, but his worries were quelled when she continued, “Why do you have a grave here?”

“Oh that’s right. It would have happened just before you moved here,” Jackson realized, “Well, would you like to hear the heroic and tragic tale of Grandpa Overland?”  
  With wide eyes, the girl sat a little straighter and nodded emphatically, causing Jackson to smile. He didn’t mingle with those his age, but they knew of his story-telling skills regardless. 

“All right, let’s see,” Jackson closed his eyes and let the memories flood over him before he began his tale,

“Grandpa Overland—Grandpa in short—was what everyone called our family hound. He was as much family as Thomas or my sister, and while I was growing up we relied on him for many things. He helped shepherd the goats. He helped on hunts. Once, during one particularly harsh winter storm, he’d managed to sniff out a lost child and stayed with him until the weather permitted the adults to go look for the boy,”

Jackson laughed a little, “Grandpa had icicles a good mile long coming out of his nose and his tail could have been used as a blade, but he’d stayed with the kid, and to this day, everyone thanks Grandpa because the kid surely would have died without the hound’s help. He was patient and gentle too. Never attacked the villagers no matter what they did. I’m pretty sure I spent an entire summer riding him like a horse once when I was little. He didn’t care. He was a good dog.”

Jackson paused here, observing his hands lightly folded in his lap. He only continued when Lisa prompted him with a touch to his shoulder, “It happened almost exactly three years ago, fall of the year I turned nine. Nobody really knows what transpired that night; anything you hear is simply speculation at best. Nobody saw it coming, nor, I imagine, could they do anything to stop it if they did,”

Jackson shook his head, “It was so sudden. One day I was playing with Grandpa in the fields, the next a villager came to our door exclaiming ‘Tragedy! Tragedy! You must come see’ and so we did and there Grandpa was, splayed about the ground on the outskirts of the village,”

Jackson’s turned toward Lisa, his eyes shining wet in the moonlight, “Splayed in pieces, you see. His tongue was inches out of his mouth, an ear found in a nearby bramble bush, an eye gone, head nearly torn off body. Stomach revealed for the whole world to see. Intestines looped and twisted and suddenly terminated all around the carcass in a horrible sort of bloody maze. They never did find one of his paws…”

“Stop. In gods name, stop. Please,”

“Too much?” Jackson asked, his wry smile from earlier back.

“Too much,” Lisa agreed, “Too. Much.”

“Okay. Suffice to say it was the most horrible thing this village had seen in a long while. And, as I pointed out earlier, nobody knows exactly what did it. Oh, they have their theories of course. It was a savage bear looking to ransack the village before its hibernation. A pack of starved wolves. A rabid beast. A demon. The list goes on. All everybody agrees on is that Grandpa single-handedly stood up to whatever it was and sacrificed himself to save us all. So we purified the body with a bonfire, and the villagers erected this memorial in his name. It’s simple, but he was a simple kind of dog. I think he would have liked it,” Jackson ended his story without flourish and stated simply, “You’re crying,”  
“Of course I am. How can anyone not cry? Such a horrible way to die…” She trailed off, sniffing, before suddenly pivoting and grasping one of Jackson’s hands, “Don’t worry. I’m sure Grandpa likes his grave, and I’m sure he’s still watching over you in heaven,”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Jackson said with a bitter smile, “He’s probably pretty angry at me—and my family—right now,”

“Why?” Lisa asked, confused.

“Because just before he died, we’d decided to sell him off when the next caravan came to town. Crops had been bad that year, you see, and we needed some extra coin. Despite that he was family—despite that he worked harder than anyone else—we were going to toss him aside like trash for some cheap coin!” Jackson paused, taking a deep breath to calm himself down and continued, “So you see why he would be mad?”

“No!” Lisa exclaimed emphatically, startling Jackson, “I don’t think he’d be mad. I’m sure he understood that you needed to do it, and I’m sure he was glad to help his family any way he could. If he was ever angry, he’s definitely forgiven you now. I mean, it’s obvious how much you miss him,”

“Truthfully,” Jack spoke out hesitantly, “the way he died, I miss him less that way. I mean now it’s like a piece of him will stay with me forever—as long as the villagers remember the hero who saved them,” 

“No no no. It’s still too horrible,” Lisa concluded after a thoughtful pause, “What could have done that to poor Grandpa? I can’t believe it was never punished, but I am sure it’s going to Hell for it,”

“You think so?”

“I know so. Such an evil being could never make it to heaven,” She gave him a watery smile, “Don’t you worry Jackie-boy. Whatever took Grandpa away from you will surely be punished for eternity,”

Jackson gave a short laugh, “That’s kind of morbid, but I suppose you’re right. I can take comfort in that, at least. Thanks, Lisa,” She startled, staring at Jackson with wide eyes and after a minute he found himself disconcerted, “What?”

“You said my name,”

He gave his head a little shake, “So?”

“That’s the first time,” She all-but-whispered.

Just then the front door opened, Henna peeking out until she spotted the two kids sitting on the ground, “There you are, girlie. What are you doing out here? You were supposed to be sleeping until your shift to watch the patient,”

Lisa stood up, “Oh no. I completely forgot! When’s my turn?”

“Right now,” Henna answered.

Lisa moaned and turned to Jack as she walked inside, “I have to go. Thanks for telling me that story,”

“No problem,” Jackson gave a little wave as the door shut, but his hand dropped lifelessly—as did his friendly smile and sad demeanor—once everyone else was inside. The perpetrator was going to go to Hell, was he? Well, that didn’t exactly bode well for Jackson.

The memory once again flashed before his eyes. Waking in the dark of night. Leading a confused Grandpa to the edge of the village. Slashing his throat so he couldn’t make a noise. Tearing into him with the newly stolen dagger. It’d seemed so much bigger in his hands then—so much less natural than it was now—and Jackson hadn’t the faintest idea of the correct ways of handling it. So he experimented on the hound. And still, Grandpa wouldn’t attack him. He was a good dog.

Jackson touched the ground just in front of the stone under which, unbeknownst to every other villager, was buried the single paw of the beloved Grandpa Overland.

“Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone take you away. I love you, Grandpa,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah geez this chapter. I think it's my longest one for this story so far. Although, actually, if I'm not careful, I could make an author's note just as long (if not longer) for this chapter. (I actually can't as I have a five thousand character limit, but shhhhh)
> 
> Anyway to keep it short, I'll just quickly summarize all the things I want to say about it.
> 
> 1\. yes, Jackson and Jack act like two completely different people (except perhaps for their psychotic breaks). Yes I did that on purpose. Yes, there are actually quite a few similarities between the two of them, if one looks hard.  
> 2\. The OC's are gonna start pouring in from here on out. Sorry if you don't like OC's, but I don't exactly have a ton of canon characters to work with here.  
> 3\. I apologize to any history buffs (or anyone who knows anything at all about history.) because this is not going to be historically accurate in any way, shape, or form.  
> 4\. I really, really enjoy writing Jack's mother.  
> 5\. Yes, Jack gets quite a bit of his personality from his mother.  
> 6\. No, he will not admit that he does to anyone ever--not even himself.  
> 7\. I really wish I could write these events from anyone else's (and everyone else's) point of view, but I can't because they are Jack's memories, and unless he was a mind reader I cannot rightfully write out anyone else's thoughts. Damn.  
> 8\. I named Jack's sister Jill because of that one nursery rhyme. I'm sure you know the one. I like it for it's...ironic justice in correlation with these two. Jack fell down and broke his crown...and Jill came tumbling after.......
> 
> Next chapter: Jill gets older and begins to make friends. Jack does not like that one bit.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Any questions or comment? Feel free to speak them. And if you scream them loudly enough, I might actually be able to hear them. Otherwise, feel free to use the comment box below.
> 
> ~Saka Out


	8. A Day in the Life Of... Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is Burgess. Twelve days north of civilization, and a few degrees south of Insanity. It's located solidly on the Meridian of Misfortune. Jack's village. In a word: Clueless. Though people have only been here for two generations, they act as though nothing can go wrong. They have a wonderful smithy, friendly inhabitants, and a lovely forest for foraging. The only problems are the fatalities.
> 
> You see, most people have to deal with wolves or sickness, but Burgess? Burgess has the Overlands.
> 
> It's too bad none of them have realized that yet.

Jackson held the blade up to the molten red light of the forge fire, running one thumb along the edge. It was sharp enough to nearly draw blood even from his feather-light touch. 

The boy grinned and set the butcher’s knife on the table next to the rest of his newly-sharpened cutlery, “They’re perfect, as always sir. Thank you again. How much?” He reached a hand into the pouch at his waist.

“This was hardly nothing,” The burly form of the town’s blacksmith spoke up with a dismissive wave of his hand, “Wouldn’t dream of charging you for something like this,”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that, sir,” Jackson countered, “I have to repay you some way,”

“Hmm,” The older man pretended to consider as he rubbed a gloved hand through his wiry beard, “Well, maybe you could come by tonight after supper,”

“I’d hate to intrude—”

“Nonsense. You wouldn’t be doing any such thing. My brother’s just moved to town, and the wife’s invited the entire village and a half over tonight in celebration.”

“I don’t know...My sister—”

“Little Jillian’s invited too, sonny. In fact,” A twinkle lit up the blacksmith’s eyes, “we might just have some pie for her if she does,”

“Sounds wonderful, sir,” Jackson conceded as he started gathering up his tools into the wicker basket he always carried around, “I should probably go now. Have to start dinner early if I want to make it in time for dessert,”

“A lad like you—cooking dinner. You’re what boy, thirteen?”

“Fourteen, almost fifteen actually,”

“Really?” The Blacksmith looked genuinely shocked, “all’s-the-more then. A lad your age should be out learnin’ the world. Gettin’ a trade. Dallying with young lasses,” The Blacksmith gave a sly wink before gaining a solemn look, “Instead you’re stuck at home, doing a lady’s work. If only your mother—”

“Mary’s alive,” Jackson interrupted, a sad smile on his face, “and that’s what matters. Until she’s well again, I consider supporting my family the best trade in the world,”

The Blacksmith stared at him, wide-eyed, before breaking out into a chastised grin and exclaiming, “Listen to you. Boy, you make the rest of the world look bad,” Despite his words, the man spoke with nothing but good cheer and he lightheartedly shooed Jackson out, “Go on, get. Your friends the angels are wondering where you’ve gone off to,”

“Yessir,” With that and his basket, Jackson left. Behind him, the sound of metal hammering against metal started up in the smithy.

It really was kind of the blacksmith to take the time out of his busy schedule to sharpen Jackson’s tool for free, but then, nothing less was expected of the town’s Blacksmith, Elijah Jones.

Elijah was a burly man, his large face mostly hidden by his braided beard. No one ever saw him without his charred leather apron and gloves, hiding an impressive build. Many likened his appearance to that of a bear’s, but if Elijah was a bear, he was the kindest one people could have had the pleasure of meeting. He did favors for those unfortunate souls who couldn’t afford his work. He made sure nobody in the village felt cast aside, and he gave away food as if wheat and pies and chicken dinners could be bought en-mass.

Jackson hated him.

He was always intruding on Jackson’s life, getting in between him and his sister. He forced food onto them as if they were mongrels incapable of taking care of themselves. He acted like he understood Jackson when he obviously didn’t, and perhaps worst of all, he figured he was better than Jackson, always doing these charitable little things as if he could somehow _help_ the Overlands.

Perhaps, when Jackson finally found a way to kill Mary, he could find a way to blame it on Elijah and solve two problems with one stone.

With a sigh, Jackson shook the flippant thought from his mind and entered his home, heading immediately for the dining table and setting his basket down. Absently, he began preparing to make dinner. The process was one he’d done countless times, and he could do it without a single thought. In almost no time at all, the fireplace was ready, a large pot full of water hanging above the fire, a wooden cutting-board rested on the table, Jackson’s array of knives set out in neat rows on either side of it, and little jars of spices were lining the cutting board’s far side.

Basic preparations finished, Jackson reached into the seemingly empty basket, pulling out the handkerchief that lined it, and lifted out the still, tense cat that rested under it, placing the beast on the board. It’s eyes darted about wildly, breath coming in short gasps, but other than that, it made no sound or movements. Probably had something to do with the rather large dose of bloodroot Jackson had slipped into its meal last night. As far as cats went, this one was large, fat, lazy and useless for almost everything, except, perhaps, a good meal.

Gripping its head with one hand, Jackson picked up the butcher’s knife with the other, taking his time to aim correctly before swinging down and severing the feline’s head from its body. Immediately, the form went limp, and Jackson smiled. The knife had sliced through like butter; it really was so much easier without a dull blade.

Arms wrapped around his torso, squeezing tightly, “Jack, you’re here. You’re here,” Mary’s voice whimpered out, “Where were you? I called and called for you but you never came, Jack. Why didn’t you come? You left didn’t you? Why? Jack, you can’t leave me. You can’t leave your mother. Please. I love you—I can protect you. Please don’t leave me. Never never again. You’re not allowed to. You have to stay with me; I can’t protect you if you don’t, Jackson. Understand me? You can’t leave. Not ever—”

“I understand, Mary,” Jackson cut in, forcing himself to relax and set the knife back into line with the others before he did something stupid, like turning around and butchering the woman who was burying her face into his hair.

She gasped, “Y-you do? You—won’t leave?”

“Not ever again,” he replied for perhaps the millionth time since Mary had woken up.

“Oh, thank you thank you!” Mary gave a small squeeze before letting go and taking a quick breath to pull herself together. She lightly cuffed Jackson arm before saying with a smile in her voice, “You’re always such a good son—what do you have here?” He felt her body lean on him as she glanced over his shoulder, but Jackson kept his attention squarely on the beast in front of him.

“The blacksmith’s cat,” He answered lightly, his eyes half-lidded and his expression impassive as he picked up the Cabbage knife and began skinning the beast.

At this point, if he’d been talking to anyone else, Jackson would have effectively driven them away, a look of horror on their face. But this was Mary, the woman who was terrified of every passing shadow, who screamed all night and stalked all day. This was the woman who wanted to lock Jackson in a little box forever and ever. So he shouldn’t have been surprised when she replied:

“Oh, I see, and how are the Joneses today?”

He shouldn’t have been, but he was, and Jackson paused his preparations to look at the woman behind him for the first time.

Messy brown hair framed her smiling face as she stared back, obviously expecting an answer. Eventually, Jackson yielded, slowly resuming the skinning as he said scathingly, “I don’t know, Mary. I just killed their cat for dinner. I can’t imagine they’ll be particularly happy when they find out,”

“Well then, we probably shouldn’t tell them!” 

She cheerily replied, and Jackson closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before stating simply, “That’s true.”

Mary didn’t deign to reply, but she made no move to leave either, opting instead to stand just behind Jackson, close enough that each puff of air she released ruffled Jackson’s hair, but not quite touching. It was unsettling, but Jackson was used to her behaviors at this point, so he ignored her as he continued his prep.

When he’d finally gotten the skin removed, Jackson went to switch his cabbage knife for his paring knife, only to freeze in shock.

His butcher’s knife was missing.

His one-foot-long-without-the-handle, newly sharpened butchering blade was not where he’d set it down, and Mary was still breathing down his neck just out of his peripheral vision like some kind of predator stalking her prey. She must have taken it after distracting Jack. Her cheery nonchalance was intentional, he realized with a silent snarl. She’d planned this! 

And he’d fallen for it.

“Is something wrong, Jack?” Mary asked, tone saccharine sweet.

Jackson didn’t respond, didn’t look at her, didn’t move. What game was she playing today? What would set her off? What could he do to defend himself when she struck? There was no way. He was too vulnerable like this. For all he knew, she could be holding the blade centimeters from his back right now!

A puff of hot breath against the back of his neck shook Jackson out of his initial panic, and he forcefully quelled the rest.

Jill wasn’t here, having been sent to her grandmother’s house to begin her stitch-craft lessons, and Mary was obviously more interested in Jackson today anyway. The worst thing the woman could do was attack him and, assuming he survived the initial strike, Jackson could hit back in self defense, perhaps “accidentally” stabbing her in the process. All she had to do was provide a single wound as physical evidence, and Jackson could invent the rest of their tragic tale: A struggle for the blade. An attempt to stop Mary before she hurt anyone. A cruel twist of irony. A blade twisted and sheathed in  the beloved woman’s chest. A heart-broken, guilt-ridden son. The story would easily be believed. After all, everyone knew that the Overland boy was positively too _angelic_ to intentionally murder his mother.

Jackson replied with a forced calm, “No, nothing is,” before grabbing his paring knife and waiting for the woman to make the next move.

She never did. Of course she didn’t. Despite all her talk of loving him, and of the reverse, she knew better than to give him a viable excuse to go at her. 

Instead, all throughout Jackson’s cutting and carving of the beast, Mary simply stood behind him, breathing down his neck in a steady rhythm, and though he knew she was there, the boy couldn’t help but flinch when he turned around and his vision was suddenly filled with Mary’s murderous expression. Her head was tucked down, her eyes glaring up through her unkept mop of hair. Jackson didn’t see the blade, but one of her hands was tucked away behind her back, obviously holding it.

He tried to hold her glare, but before she even blinked Jackson had to look away, sidestepping the woman and walking to the pot to dump the newly prepared meat inside. When he was finished, Jackson quickly pivoted, expecting to see Mary standing right behind him—but she wasn’t there. A quick scan of their main room showed Jackson that she was gone entirely, but he hadn’t heard the front door open. So he figured she retreated into her room.

He sighed in relief and mentally scolded himself for it.

The rest of the cooking process went uneventfully, though at some point Mary had crept back into the room, merely standing in the most shadowed corner just to the left of the entryway. Her hair was somehow in even greater disarray than before, covering her face as she presumably glared at him, her old, stained nightgown swaying slightly in the house’s draft. Jackson thought he caught a glimpse of the blade, but she always kept it out of sight behind her back.

She seemed content to stay there, and as he ladled their dinner into two bowls, Jackson tried to figure out what game she was playing. He contemplated that she might try to attack Jill once the girl came home, but Mary knew as well as he did that it wouldn’t work. Jill would be coming with Thomas, and if Jackson could count on one thing, it was that Thomas would serve as a decent shield for his sister. Mary obviously wasn’t going to make a first strike. Was she trying to get a rise out of him? Why? No, there wouldn’t be any purpose in that. She must have been waiting for something, but what would trigger her? What had triggered her into this in the first place? Jackson couldn’t think of anything particularly abnormal he’d done around her today.

Jackson resisted sighing in agitation—he didn’t know if that would set her off. He couldn’t stand that he couldn’t figure this woman out. She was too unstable, too unpredictable, and it was never to Jackson’s advantage. 

The door opened to a high-pitched, cheery laugh, and Jackson’s mood brightened considerably as his sister stepped in, followed closely by Thomas.

“Welcome home, Jill,” Jackson called, setting both bowls he was holding on the table.

“Hi, Jack!” She exclaimed. She’d stopped calling him Jack-Jack about a year ago, and he found that he missed that, especially when it’d been replaced simply by Jack. At least Jackson found the nickname considerably less grating when his sister said it.

“Good evening, son—woah!” Thomas startled when he caught sight of his wife in the corner while removing his cloak, “Dear, you scared me. What are you standing there for? What is she standing there for?” The last question he addressed to Jackson, knowing Mary wouldn’t answer. 

Jackson shrugged, “I can honestly say I have no idea,” He glanced at Mary, “But dinner is ready if you’d like to get her out,”

“Ah, that’s what I smelled,” Thomas replied happily as he tried to coax his wife away from the wall. She wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t even acknowledge him.

“What is it?” Jill asked when she reached the table and looked at bowls there.

“Just some stew with an animal caught in one of my traps—ah ah,” Jackson lightly scolded when his sister attempted to sneak a bite, “No stealing food until everyone’s at the table,” 

“But Jack,” Jill complained eloquently, drawing out her brother’s name.

“But Jill,” Jackson repeated before crouching down and whispering into her ear, “if you’re good, I can get us some pie for dinner,”

He could see how her eyes lit up as she turned to face him, “Really?”

“Really,”

“Okay!” She nodded seeming much more content to not touch the food in front of her. Jackson heaved a mental sigh of relief. It really wouldn’t do to have his sister eat soup that’s been laced with bloodroot-poisoned meat.

“Jackson, come help me,” Thomas called out, “Your mother’s calling for you,”

“I’m sure she is,” Jackson muttered, squeezing his sister’s shoulder as he stood up and warily walked toward the corner. Mary was swaying slightly, but she wouldn’t be budged no matter how Thomas tugged.

As Jackson came closer, he could hear his name murmured repeatedly under Mary’s breath. When he came within arm’s length, her head snapped up and she screamed.

“Where is he? Where is Jack? What have you done with him you _Demon_?” With that, she revealed the blade and swung it toward Jackson. Already half expecting it, the boy easily dodged, eyes wide in feigned horror.

Behind Jackson, his sister screamed and he shouted, “Jill, get beneath the table, now!” He could hear the scrambling as she obeyed, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off Mary. Thomas was holding her back for now, but her struggles were getting increasingly violent, and in her crazed state, she seemed almost preternaturally strong. 

“Demon! You’ve tricked everyone here, but I’ll show them!” She screamed, “You’re a demon and I’ll prove it! What have you done with my Jack?” She managed to swing an elbow into Thomas’s chest and the man reflexively let go as he grasped his chest. 

Mary charged, the blade swinging wildly, and Jackson backed away, saying, “M-Mary, calm down, please. It’s me it’s J-Jack. Please,”

“Shut up, demon!” She howled back, “I know what you are—I saw it in a vision. Last night it was revealed to me. You’d kidnapped my Jack that’s why he’s gone. He wouldn’t leave me!” She laughed hysterically, “He’d never leave me!”

The edge of the table knocked into Jackson’s back as his mother pressed forward, breathing hard, knife at the ready. Jill whimpered, distracting Jackson just as the woman swung the blade. Eyes wide, Jackson crossed his arms over his face in a belated defense.

He felt the blade cut into his forearm just as Thomas screamed, “Mary, no!”

For a second everything was quiet, and then Jackson heard the sound of metal clattering against the floor. Slowly, he lowered his arms and took in the scene in front of him. Mary was standing limply in front of him, Thomas’s grip around her waist the only thing keeping her up. Blinking, Jackson looked down at the cut on his left arm, surprised to see that it was only a very shallow one. Apparently, Thomas had managed to pull Mary back before she could do any serious damage.

“It’s red,” Mary whispered as she stared at the cut, “It’s red; you bleed red. Jack? My Jack? Is it really you?” She asked, hope shining in her eyes as she stared into his. Jackson pursed his lips and covered the wound with his other hand, “B-but—my vision. It was—you were—”

Thomas slowly pulled her down into a sitting position on the ground, “Shh, my sweet. It was just a nightmare. That’s all. Next time, you can talk to me about it. I’m here. Shh,” Mary hitched a sob before turning to bury her face into her husband’s neck.

Jackson was distracted from the rather pathetic scene when he sister crawled out from under the table and gripped the hem of his vest. She looked up at him with wide, shaky eyes, silently asking if he was okay. He managed a smile and a small nod before turning back to Thomas.

“I think it would be best if Jill and I stay out for a bit,”

Looking grim, Thomas replied, “Perhaps, but you shouldn’t have to leave house and home because of this,”

The boy shook his head, “No trouble. The Joneses invited us over tonight anyway. We’ll just spend some time there instead,”

“The blacksmith’s celebration? Oh, I remember now,” Thomas replied over Mary’s head, “Very well. Do what you must. I’ll put your mother to bed,”

Smiling, Jack bent down and picked Jill up, “Come on then,” He whispered into her ear, “Let’s go get that pie,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, shorter chapter, yes, but a fun one nonetheless, methinks. Oh and before I forget, I take no credit for the summary. That's all HTTYD. 
> 
> Originally, this chapter was going to be muchhhh longer, but I decided to split it into three (at least three) segments, because I'm lame and this way I can drag the story out longer. (Well actually it's because I want to continue editing the second part of this chapter extensively without making you guys wait for a chapter.)
> 
> So I like this chapter because Jack's mom. Because she can throw him off like no one else. Because their relationship is so much more complicated than Jackson would like. Because she's the only person Jackson can really be himself around. And yet, because this story's from Jackson's POV, she will be written as the main-antagonist. Despite the fact that _he_ is actually the story's main bad guy? And actually, there is another antagonist in the Jackson arc that never even really comes to light. I dunno. Trying to figure out the logistics of this story still confuses me. In this chapter (and the next couple) Jack is almost fifteen, which places Jill at almost five. I haven't the faintest idea how children act, so I hope I'm not messing her up too badly. 
> 
> Oh and despite Jackson's rant, I actually quite like the Joneses.
> 
> Goodness Gracious. I talk too much.
> 
> Next Chapter: We actually get to see Jill's friendship making skills that I spoke of last chapter, and also Jackson's. (Hint, Jill's better at it than her brother, or would be, if not for, you know...her brother.)
> 
> See you there!  
> ~saka Out


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